Til the End
by LynniePearl
Summary: Who would you want to spend your last day on earth with? Set sometime after Desperately Seeking Serena. C/B, N/V, D/S ? . Ten years in the future New York crumbles under terrorist attacks. Please read author's note before embarking!
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing. GG belongs to C.v.Z., J.S., and the C.W. For profit. Thanks to Katy and Courtney. xoxo  
**_

_**A/N Sometime after Desperately Seeking Serena Nate's father left them and Nate finds out about Chuck and Blair. Soon after Nate's mother commits suicide and he escapes New York to live with his maternal grandparents. Blair and Nate never slept together, Nate briefly dated Vanessa before she won a film scholarship for her documentary from School Lies and left for Toronto. (Yes, I'm still continuing Mahogany) Please let me know how this turned out!**_

* * *

He'd dreamt of The Captain again. Walking in the park, the path they used to run together every morning carpeted in rusted leaves, his hands in his pockets. He'd tried to stop him; running after him at full speed and screaming his name at the top of his lungs but it hadn't made a difference. Nothing ever did. His feet always pounded the pavement in slow motion; his words always floated away in the wind. And his father always receded into nothingness, slowly disappearing as if he was never really there to begin with.

Nate sighed. He hadn't dreamt of his father in over a year, but with the anniversary of his mother's suicide quickly approaching… he guessed it was only natural.

Vanessa stirred beside him, rolling over to drape her arm across his stomach. The ring he had gotten down on one knee to give her twinkled in the early morning sunlight. They'd be husband and wife this time next year. Married. Legally bound. He'd never told her that it scared him shitless; following in his father's footsteps, becoming the type of man he'd been… the type of father he'd turned out to be. It wasn't something he thought she'd understand. Her parents, though eccentric as they might be, loved her and her sister unconditionally. Her father would never have siphoned millions of dollars from his business partners' accounts to waste on pharmaceuticals or to run off with cheap hookers. Her mother would never have silently suffered a lifetime of her husband's abuse or hide a blind eye to his unfaithful transgressions. And she would have never leapt to her death before her daughter's eyes; blood splattering on the sidewalk around her shattered head like a gruesome halo.

Nate shuddered at the image he'd rather forget.

"You cold, Fitz?" Vanessa asked from beneath closed lids beside him.

He peered down at the top of the head that was nestled into the crook of his neck. He hadn't heard her call him Nate in over ten years, since that first day he'd bumped into her in Toronto. She'd stood in the rain, her curls straightening under the weight of fat rain drops, and shouted at him for hours for having disappeared without a word. And he'd let her because it had felt good to have someone look at him with something other than pity in their eyes for once. She'd finally wiped the tears he hadn't been able to tell weren't raindrops from her cheeks, forgiven him and declared that a new start deserved a new name. He'd been Fitz – or some other less embarrassing form of his middle moniker – to her ever since. "No. Did I wake you?" he asked.

"No" she yawned, "You know I always wake up exactly a minute before the al –"

He reached a hand out to stop the shrill ring of their alarm clock, "Hungry?"

"Starved" she laughed, snuggling into his side.

"Usual?" He asked, slipping out of her hold and escaping to the kitchen before she could reply.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Come on Rapunzel, rise and shine! You're going to be late!" Dan yelled up the stairs, banging a wooden spoon against the inside of a pot. Serena's curtain call was in twenty minutes and he'd been trying to wake her up for the past hour.

"Relax!" Came her annoyed response, "It's not like they can start without me."

"Of course, because the world waits for its Serena Van der Woodsens." He muttered half to himself as he turned to make his way back into the kitchen.

"Well maybe if we lived closer to Manhattan I wouldn't have to wake up at the crack of dawn to make it anywhere on time." Serena countered, stomping down the stairs. She wore only jeans and a t-shirt – no bra.

Dan eyed her breasts angrily, "If we lived closer to Manhattan would you have the time to put on your underwear?"

"We've been over this a thousand times, Dan," she crossed her arms against her breasts as she pushed past him into the kitchen; "It's part of the job."

He stalked after her, "Then maybe it's time you stopped parading half naked up and down the runway."

"Are we really going to have this fight again?" She growled over her shoulder as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

"Looks like," he snapped, throwing the pot and spoon into a random cupboard and slamming the door shut.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"You know we're going to have to talk about this sooner or later," Vanessa's voice floated from the bedroom into the kitchen where Nate was scrambling eggs.

He sighed. He knew this conversation was coming. Although he had hoped he'd be able to put it off until at least after breakfast. "I know" he called back, his voice small.

"I just… thought you'd be… happy, I guess." He could hear the springs in their old mattress groan as she shifted her weight off the bed.

"I am, V. I'm just…" He let his sentence trail off, not knowing where to even begin.

"Scared?" She supplied as she wrapped her arms around him from behind and kissed his bare shoulder blade.

He turned off the element and removed the frying pan to a hot plate, "More than you know."

"It's not the end of the world, we'll be ok." She pressed her cheek against his back to reassure him of her words, "This baby is a gift, not a punishment." When he didn't reply she untangled her arms from around his waist and wiped at the salty tears streaming down her face. "Ok, then. We should eat or you'll be late. How long are you gone for this time?"

He divvied up the eggs and turned to place their plates on the table, "It'll be at least a week and a half, maybe two weeks. The supplies are really running low up there, the shipment probably should have gone up two weeks ago but I just couldn't spare the time." He met her eyes briefly, offering her a small smile. It had been their anniversary and the day she's first told him she was pregnant.

Her answering smile was just as small, "I packed you an extra pair of long johns and wool socks – it gets cold up there this time of year."

He reached across the gap between them to cover her hand with his, "Thank you."

She nodded and averted her gaze as tears sprang to her eyes once more. And in that moment he hated his father more than he ever had in his entire twenty eight years. He should be bouncing off the walls or stumbling around with a goofy smile plastered to his face and handing out cigars to random strangers. He shouldn't be sitting across the table from his pregnant fiancé picturing their son or daughter standing over their mother's broken, lifeless body. "I'll be back before you know it and we'll… talk." He stood, gathering his empty dishes. He sighed for the thousandth time that morning; she hadn't eaten a single bite of her breakfast. "You should eat, sweet pea," he told her, pressing his lips briefly to her cheek. She nodded and absently brought a forkful of egg to her mouth. He left his dirty dishes in the sink for their part time maid Maggie and headed for the shower.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"It's my JOB," Serena repeated, breaking the uneasy silence that had fallen over them as they sat and ate their breakfast.

"So find a new one," Dan shrugged unsympathetically, his eyes never leaving the newspaper in front of him.

"Excuse me?" Her brows disappeared into her hair line; her coffee mug stalled en route to her lips in mid air.

"You heard me," He shrugged a shoulder and met her glare head on, "Find. A. New. Job."

"I happen to LIKE my job, thank you very much." She snarled through clenched teeth.

"No, you don't." He countered quirking a busy eyebrow and daring her to deny it.

"Yes, I do!" She slammed her coffee mug against the table, black liquid sloshing over the rim onto the table.

"It's degrading and you hate it," he barked, "Why the fuck you stick with it I have NO idea. You have a perfectly good degree from Yale – Yale! – and you do shit all with it!" Her spine stiffened and he noticed. "But of course we don't talk about that! No! Not Yale! God forbid we talk about the degree from Yale!"

"Stop it" She hissed, pushing back violently from the table and storming out of the room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Vanessa scrapped her plate of eggs into the trash once he'd left the room. She wasn't hungry and she probably wouldn't be until long after he'd left.

She wasn't exactly sure where it had all gone wrong – from the moment he had unexpectedly popped back into her life four years ago things had always been fairy tale perfect between them. It had been raining and she was rushing to her Art History class at the university, ten minutes late as usual. She'd taken a quick glance into the street but her hair was wet and in her face and she'd mistaken the oncoming car for a parked one. He'd swooped in from out of nowhere to tackle her to the ground and out of harm's way. And she had been extremely grateful up until she'd realized the identity of her knight in shinning armor. Nathaniel Archibald. The boy who'd broken her seventeen-year-old heart when, four months into her year long scholarship at The Toronto Film School his letters had suddenly stopped coming. She'd stood in the rain hollering at him for hours, his wide smile never leaving his gorgeous face. And, as corny as it sounds, they'd been happy ever since. Or at least she'd been.

Vanessa sighed as she placed her dirty dishes on top of his in the sink.

He'd been happy too, up until two weeks ago when she'd told him they were going to be parents. She'd been expecting him to grin uncontrollably and sweep her into his arms. Instead, he'd gone paler than their white table cloth and nearly choked to death on his appetizer. She padded into their bedroom and tugged their comforter off the bed to wrap it around her small frame. Maybe losing herself in whatever biography was playing on A&E would take her mind off the fact that her fiancé maybe didn't want to have anything to do with the life growing inside of her. She slumped onto their leather sofa and flicked on the TV.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Stop what? I don't even know what it is that I'm doing!" Dan roared, following Serena into their bedroom.

"You know exactly what!" She yelled back, kicking at the clothing heaped in piles on the floor, "Where is my fucking wallet?!"

"No! I don't!" He stalked furiously to her nightstand, "It's right fucking here!"

She yanked it from his outstretched hand, "Then maybe you should just shut the hell up!"

"Fine," His palms hands came up, palms outstretched in surrender, "I'm done, you win."

She sighed, "thank you. I'll just… I'll see you after work, ok?"

He shook his head no, "No. I mean, I'm done. I'm out. I can't do this anymore."

"What?" She squeaked, her wallet slipping from her hand to the floor.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nate hoped Vanessa's spirits had lifted in the time it had taken him to shower and change; he didn't want to leave her alone and upset. Pushing his wet hair out of his face, he followed the muffled sounds of the TV into the living room and found her fast asleep on the couch. He tiptoed forward, mindful of their tabby cat Jake who kept winding his way between his feet, to look down at her. She really was beautiful; her supple pink lips, her dark lashes resting against her olive skin, her curly hair poking out the top of her comforter cocoon.

Lifting her head and placing a pillow under it, he whispered a kiss against her temple, "You are my heart and soul, V." He crossed the room to mute the TV – for some unknown reason she always pitched a fit if he turned it off completely – and pointed a finger at Jake, "Take care of her while I'm gone, buddy." And then he slung his duffle bag over his shoulder and hurried out the door.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"I'm out," Dan repeated slowly, "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? You're SORRY?!" Serena screeched, "You're breaking up with me because of my _job_ and you're _sorry_? How fucking ironic!"

He bristled as her words registered, "Ironic? Oh – you mean because pathetic, low rent Brooklyn is breaking up with Princess Serena Van der Woodsen?"

"After everything I went through at Constance and with Blair! I _defended_ you!" She continued, bending down to pick up her wallet and hurl it at his head, "I told everyone who'd listen we didn't care what they thought because social hierarchies didn't matter! Well looks like I was only half right!"

"That's crap and you know it, Serena. That's not what this is about." He grabbed his wallet and keys off his nightstand and shoved them into the front pockets of his pants, "and if you can't see that then I'm not sure I'm making the wrong decision here." He turned back when he reached their bedroom room, "I'll come by later when I'm done at the paper to get the rest of my things." And then he was gone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"No, no, no, no, NO!" Blair shouted at a rail thin, blonde girl of about twenty, "If I've told you once I've told you a thousand times! Blind stitch! The hem on this design requires a blind stitch!" Blair snatched the needle and thread from the girl and pushed her away from the dress form, "What kind of intern are you? Do you know nothing!?" The tiny blonde turned and fled, tears streaming down her face.

Jenny breezed into the studio, arms weighed down with fabric as the intern rushed out, "Another one, Blair? What's that – like the seventh this week?"

"Eight." Blair corrected, sparing Jenny a brief look over the top of the dress form, "Seventh was that Amazonian with the bad dye job from F.I.T."

Jenny eyed the top of Blair's head, "Yes. How could I forget, Jeriska from Jersey." She made her way over to her desk and dumped her morning purchases, "I'll call the agency once I'm done with Eleanor."

"No!" Blair protested quickly, "Call them now! I want somebody over here in twenty minutes who knows their way blindfolded around a blind stitch!" Blair stomped forward and snatched a file folder of swatches from Jenny's hands, "I'll deal with Eleanor myself."

Jenny watched her go. She was used to Blair acting like a raging bitch. She'd suffered through it all through prep school and had even been introduced to The Blair Bitch Project 2.0 after college when she'd come back to New York to work for Eleanor. She'd even on the rarest of occasions been witness to the kind soul Blair refused to admit lay nearly dormant beneath layers of frigid ice and scorching fire. But she'd never, ever in all her years seen her acting the way she had been lately. She was all over the map; screaming bloody murder one minute and jumping out of her skin the next. She'd decided after last night's incident she was going to have talk to Eleanor – that if she could get ten minutes alone with the woman. Nobody had seen hide nor hair of Eleanor Waldorf in the past six months. She was either constantly vacationing at the latest hot spot, hunting down elusive new fabrics in France or holed up in her office working on top secret designs and refusing to see anyone whose name wasn't Blair Waldorf. Jenny was starting to get suspicious, something was definitely up.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Mom?" Blair called out as she timidly unlocked the door to her mother's private study.

"What do you want now?" Came Eleanor's sharp reply from within the dark room.

"Jenny's back. She wants 'your' opinion on the swatches for the Bendel's line." Blair answered, pushing the heavy oak door open.

"Then give it to her" Eleanor snapped.

Blair could barely make out her mother's frail form behind the large oak desk. She could remember the hours she spent as a child watching her lovingly craft each unique design behind that very desk. Now… she merely sat there all day, frozen in painful memories and dwelling in the past. Blair nodded, "Alright, as you wish. The buyers from Bergdorf's will be here in an hour. Will you be attending the meeting?"

"I will not" Eleanor hissed.

"Mother, you can't keep doing this to yourself." Blair sighed, closing the heavy door behind her and flicking the light switch, "You can't wallow in what might have been."

Eleanor sat behind the huge desk wearing dark slacks and a crème blouse, her dark hair gathered at the nape of her neck in a tasteful chignon, her eyes unblinking. "That's a little rich coming from you, don't you think?" she tossed back angrily.

Blair bristled, "Distasteful, even from you mother. I'll let you know how the meeting goes." Blair turned to haul the heavy door open again.

"I miss Charlie too, Blair." Eleanor's soft words stole the breath from Blair's lungs.

"Don't you dare," Blair spoke the words menacingly, her back to her mother. "You haven't the right," she added dangerously as she walked out.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jenny looked up, startled from her thoughts as Serena stumbled through the studio's open doorway.

"Hey! Jenny! Just the girl I didn't want to see!" She smelled like the floor of a brewery Jenny noted as the taller blonde flounced past her to drunkenly hop onto Blair's desk. "Your brother is a world class ass, Missy" Serena slurred, jabbing the air with her an index finger and nearly falling from her perch.

"I'm inclined to agree with you most days," Jenny said, catching a stapler as Serena knocked it from Blair's desk.

"What are you doing here, S?" Blair questioned as she came around the corner and spied Serena teetering on the edge of her desk. "Are you drunk?" Blair sniffed Serena's breath as she came forward.

"Maybe a little" Serena nodded, tumbling from her perch and landing with a thud on the tiled floor. "Or maybe a lot," she managed through a fit of giggles.

Blair rolled her eyes, "I don't have time for this right now." She helped a wobbly Serena into a chair and motioned for seamstress Crystal to bring her a glass of water, "I have a buyers meeting in under and hour."

"Actually," Jenny put in as Crystal handed Blair a mug, "Harry just called to reschedule; his wife's gone into labor."

"Well isn't that lovely." Blair huffed out a breath, "like the world really needs another Harry running around, looking up women's skirts."

"Oh! Goody!" Serena squealed, clapping her hands happily, "let's go shopping instead!"

"Shopping?" Blair quirked a well shaped eyebrow, "you want to go shopping? Now? Drunk."

"Shopping!" Serena repeated, wobbling as she stood up a little too quickly.

Blair looked at Jenny.

Jenny shrugged, "I've got things under control here. You two go ahead."

Blair groaned, "We'll be back in less than two hours." She grabbed her purse and coat, pinning Jenny with a knowing look, "and leave my mother alone while we're gone, Jenny."

Serena zigzagged through the design studio behind Blair following her out the door.

* * *

A/N Chuck is up next, don't worry. :)

Lynne


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N Everything from chapter one's a/n still applies. This story deals with sensitive subject matter and makes references to terrorism and terrorist attacks. It is in NO way meant to offend or disrespect those who experienced the horrific acts of 9/11. Let me know if you are liking the concept. :). And for those of you used to my smuttier fic, this one will most likely contain an M rated chapter or two. :) Thanks again to Courtney and Katy.  
**_

* * *

"Sir?" Chuck awoke to find a lanky man dressed in a white suit leaning over him, "Captain Brennan asked me to inform you that we're currently passing over Ohio and should be landing in New York within sixty minutes."

Chuck nodded, dismissing the young co pilot and righted his reclined seat. "Have you gotten a hold of Eric this morning?" He asked the grey haired man sitting across from him.

Arthur glanced up from the daily reports he'd been pursuing, "Yes."

"And?" Chuck asked, accepting a tumbler full of scotch from a busty flight attendant.

"He's been made aware of your conditions." Arthur replied.

"In and out, Arthur. I don't want to deal with anything in New York but the Grafton Project." Arthur nodded his understanding as Chuck continued, "I want to be back in Tokyo by this time tomorrow without anyone – Lily or Serena – knowing of my visit."

Arthur adjusted his glasses on his thin nose and regarded Chuck knowingly, "Yes, sir. Mr. Van der Woodsen was agreeable, if not begrudgingly so."

"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me I see that my services are needed in the galley." Chuck drawled as he got to his feet.

Arthur merely nodded, returning his attention to the morning reports as his employer swaggered across the cabin and disappeared into the galley after the busty flight attendant.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blair glanced across the small table at Serena, "So, are you going to tell me about it?"

"Nope." Serena giggled, chewing on a strand of her long hair.

Blair shrugged. The waitress arrived with the cappuccinos, silently set them between the two friends and hurried again off across the busy café.

"You know, I was talking to Eric the other day and he mentioned Chuck might be coming in for a visit soon." Serena slurped at her coffee nosily.

Blair's breathing quickened involuntarily, "Oh, really? That's lovely."

"What ever happened between the two of you anyway?" Serena asked clanging her mug against the table top and pouting exaggeratedly. "I never really understood all that," she gestured a manicured hand widely, nearly knocking the tray out of the hands of a passing waiter.

"I don't wish to discuss it," Blair answered through tight lips. Her hand shook ever so slightly as she set her own mug down.

"Oh, come on now B!" Serena scoffed, missing the warning signs of an impending Waldorf explosion, "After Ch –"

"I said I don't want to talk about it!" Blair yelled and Serena jumped at her tone.

"I'm sorry. I just – … What's going on?" Serena stood and walked to the centre of the café, pointing at a small television screen mounted against the far wall.

"An armored truck full of money over turned in Harlem a couple of hours ago," a burly man with an orange mustache sitting to Serena's left told her, "Driver just up and ran when he saw the back doors had busted open. Guess the poor bastard didn't want to wait around to get mauled."

Blair gasped as she came up behind Serena and caught sight of the brawl playing out on the tiny screen. People were swarming the truck, ripping open the back doors to get at the money inside. "My god," she whispered in shock as a teenage boy drove his fist into an elderly man's face.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Vanessa eyes fluttered opened to find Jake perched on her chest and liking her face. "I can always count on you, Jake," she murmured, scratching his ears. Jake purred contentedly. "Is he already gone, boy?" Jake liked Vanessa's chin in response. She sighed, "I thought as much."

Why couldn't he just be as happy as she was? Was it really such a terrifying thought, bringing a life into the world together? She'd been raised to believe children were a blessing. And how could a little girl with his smile or a tiny boy with his piercing blue eyes not be? She knew he hadn't had a happy childhood, that his father had left and his mother had spiraled into a dark depression that had only ended when her short life had. But life didn't have to be like that, _they_ didn't have to be like that. They could be happy and safe in their little Toronto apartment. She could teach film studies at the local high school and he could oversee business from the Canadian office like he'd been doing for the past four years. She'd even let him keep flying the northern runs if he wanted to. They could even take the kids once or twice; introduce them to the history and the culture.

Jake purred and nudged her hand, urging her to scratch his other ear. "You're just starved for love, aren't you boy?" She pressed a hand to the belly that was just beginning to show, "we know how you feel."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Turn up the volume!" someone yelled from the back of the packed café.

"_Two men were killed in a brawl earlier this morning when an armored vehicle overturned; spilling millions of dollars into the streets of Harlem. Twenty four individuals, including six senior citizens and three children, were hospitalized for burn related injuries after gasoline from the vehicle's perforated fuel tank caught fire, engulfing them in flames. City firemen are working to control the blaze and contain what we are being told are possibly toxic fumes. The Department of Public Heath has issued a statement asking any individuals within the area who are suffering from acute nausea, sudden dizzy spells, or sudden and persistent nose bleeds to please make their way to the nearest emergency room. At this time the driver of the vehicle is still missing, and anyone with information on his whereabouts is asked to contact the authorities via the number at the bottom of the screen_."

"Oh my god." Serena breathed, her drunken stupor suddenly gone, "that's right outside Dan's office."

Gasps of shock filled the café as the news station switched over to a live feed of the armored truck exploding into a blinding ball of fire.

"No! DAN!" Serena's terrified scream ripped from her chest as brick buildings crumbled to the ground around the flaming car.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jake purred once more before leaping to the ground and scampering off into the kitchen.

"I guess it is about lunch time for you, eh munch?" Vanessa unwrapped her comforter and got to her feet slowly.

Nate hated it when she called Jake 'munch', he'd never seen the need to shorten the annoyingly cute pet name 'munchkin' into an ever more sickeningly cutesy pet name. She'd told him it was because Jake was such a cutesy little munch. He'd rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and tickled her to the floor.

"Alright, alright! I'm coming." She called after the tiny tabby when his mewing became insistent. She shuffled over to turn off the TV – Nate couldn't stand it when she left it on in the background. "Let me just –" her hand froze on the dial. There were scenes she'd only ever seen playing in old war movies in black and white flickering across the TV… in colour and amid the streets of present day New York. She turned up the volume.

"_We're getting a report of three more bombings in the Manhattan area, brining the total to twelve in the state of New York alone. If you have loved ones within the affected areas, please do not attempt to make your way to them, your presence will only endanger your safety and hinder rescue efforts. Please be advised that emergency workers are responding as quickly as possible and that phone lines are down in the affected and surrounding areas. The Department of Public Heath has issued a statement urging any individuals suffering from, sudden dizzy spells, sudden and persistent nose bleeds, or sudden, acute nausea to make their way to the nearest emergency room immediately. At this time authorities are not considering the attacks to be a threat nation wide but do ask that you remain in your homes and lock your doors. We will update you as soon as we have any further information."_

"Oh my god…" Vanessa breathed. Dan and Jenny and Rufus… and all of New York. She had to get a hold of Nate.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Sir?" Arthur tapped a gnarled knuckle against the wall to the right of the galley curtain, "there is something that requires your attention."

Chuck poked a disheveled head out of the curtain. His shirt hung open at the collar; his tie lay undone around his neck. "What is it Arthur?" he growled.

"The pilot has just informed me of a change in trajectory. We will be heading north and landing at the Pearson International airport in Toronto." Arthur held out his blackberry, "There appears to be some sort of event happening."

"Event?" Chuck glanced at the blackberry screen, "Fuck." He threw the blue curtain aside, shoving his dress shirt into his pants and zipping them as he thundered past Arthur.

"Get Eric on the phone _now_." Chuck bellowed, dragging a trembling hand through his tousled hair, "And tell the pilot to wait one goddamn minute."

"Sir," Arthur hesitated, anticipating the ludicrous thought whirling around through the younger man's head, "I don't believe it wise to questions Captain Brennan's decision to alter our trajectory."

"Objection noted, Arthur." Chuck spat, raising dangerous eyes to his assistant's.

"Yes sir." Arthur replied evenly, striding quickly down the corridor to the front of the plane.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Serena! Serena – No! Come back!" Blair screamed. The tall blonde had raced out of the café after the second blast had knocked out the café's power.

Somebody bumped into Blair and she pitched to her knees violently. It was pure chaos; cars abandoned in the middle of the street, debris strewn everywhere, bloodied and broken bodies stumbling from where dust and smoke rose, coiled in the air. Blair crouched against the side walk, covering her head with he hands to avoid being stampeded by a hysterical pack of shrieking New Yorkers. It was just all a little too reminiscent of that day in September when the world stood still.

Blair pushed herself to her knees, ignoring the stinging scrapes on her palms and shins and chased after a relentless Serena. "Serena! You're going to get us killed!" Blair screamed after her, but it was no use. Serena sprinted out of sight toward the sound of sirens. "SEREN – ! " Blair's words were cut short as another blast rippled through the city. Shock waves tore down Fifth Avenue; knocking Blair unconscious and flinging her through Tiffany's showcase windows. Wood snapped and glass shattered as cement crumbled down onto Blair's limp form.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"This is absurd," Captain Brennan huffed, throwing his muscled arms up in frustration as his co pilot manned the controls. "I absolutely refuse to endanger the lives of my crew."

"Sir –" Arthur raised an index finger to interject.

"Understood Captain. Now understand _**me**_," Chuck leaned forward to bring his face within an inch of the Captain's, "Land this plane. _**Now**_."

"If I may –" Arthur tried again.

Brennan took a step forward, his nose nearly touching Chuck's, "I will not be bullied into suicide by some snot nosed, silver spoon little prick!"

"So find me an airstrip in New York you can land on without killing us…" Chuck spat back, his breath blowing Brennan's sandy hair from his forehead.

"Mr. Bass, sir. If you would just –"Arthur taped a finger to Chuck's shoulder.

Chuck ignored Arthur's persistent tap and continued, "… and I'll hand over my silver spoon, with a pretty little gold bow on top."

Chuck glared at the Captain. The Captain glared at Chuck.

"Jeffries! At last check Chicago was fully functional?" Captain Brennan barked the question at his co pilot without taking his eyes from Chuck's.

"Y-yes Captain," the lanky man who had woken Chuck earlier stuttered, "You're not seriously considering…"

"Take us there Jeffries!" Captain Brennan spat, eyeing Chuck disdainfully.

Chuck shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded, satisfied. "The money will be in your personal account before we land," Chuck told the Captain's as he turned to take over the controls from Jeffries.

"You realize this could all be for naught." Arthur finally stated.

"Did you get Eric on the phone?" Chuck demanded, ignoring the statement and stalking back into the passenger's cabin.

"She may not have survived the blasts, sir." Arthur elaborated slowly.

Chuck's spine stiffened and he froze, "You'd better hope for your sake that she did."

"Then let us all hope she did." Arthur whispered under his breath as he watched Chuck down another tumbler of scotch.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N Same old drill. Not mine. NOT intended to be offensive to those surviving the horrific events of 9/11. I'll probably been unable to update until early next week. *stares at Red*  
**_

_**Thank you to everyone who reviewed! As always, please let me know how this turned out, or if you are hating the idea!**_

* * *

"Eric!" Chuck shouted into Arthur's blackberry, "What the hell is happening down there?!"

"Chuck! It's fucking chaos!" Eric voice came through faint and garbled, like he was yelling at his step brother and boss from underwater, "It's worse than we ever imagined!"

"Fuck!" Chuck cursed, pacing the length of the cabin, "Have you found her yet?"

"Mom's with me now." Eric's voice was an odd mixture of relief and terror, "But we haven't been able to get a hold of Serena; the lines are down all over the city. And Dan's – … Dan's building was in the initial blast zone and we're… not sure he made it out."

"NO!" Chuck roared, shoving his free hand jerkily through his tangled hair, "_**HER.**_ Have you found _**her**_ yet?"

Eric paused, "No."

"Find her! And find her yesterday, Eric!" Chuck didn't bother hanging up; he simply hurled the phone against the cabin wall, watching as it shattered into jagged, unusable bits.

Arthur glanced up from his seat at the sound of his blackberry meeting the wall just above his head, "Sir, I feel that I must inform you that that was very unwise."

"I've had just about enough of your opinions, Arthur." Chuck growled, dropping heavily into the seat opposite the grey haired man.

"Noted," Arthur nodded, "I take it Mr. Van der Woodsen was unable to find the girl?"

Chuck glared at him, briefly considering launching the tumbler in his hand to join the old man's blackberry. "No."

"And if he doesn't?" Arthur questioned.

Chuck forcefully spun the cap off the bottle of his reserve scotch, taking a sip directly from the bottle before answering, "He'd better."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Fitz! Dammit, pick up your phone!" Vanessa yelled loudly at the cell phone in her hand, sending Jake careening under the living room sofa. "I'm sorry boy," she murmured apologetically, tailing after the terrified animal and kneeling down beside the couch, "He's just not picking up."

Jake trembled and pulled his furry head further into his body.

"You're right, munch. Yelling at inanimate objects won't make up him pick up his phone. He's probably just in the air and can't hear it ringing." Vanessa reached a tentative hand under the couch and wiggled her fingers slowly. "Come on boy, no more yelling. I promise."

Jake eyed her hand warily and slowly began to crawl forward.

"That's a good kitten, yea." She cooed as Jake sprinted forward the last few inches to launch himself into her lap, "Uh huh. He's probably just in the air is all… right munch?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Consciousness came in slow spurts.

She could smell dust… and something burning. It vaguely reminded her of how those little green army men smelt when a seven year old Nate used to melt them in Central Park with a magnifying glass. Plastic. Somewhere someone was melting green plastic army men. _Lots_ of plastic army men.

She could see… nothing. It was pitch black. Not one star shone in the sky. Not even the moon was out. Why was it so dark?

She could hear water running in the distance. No – roaring. Rapids? Was she near rapids? Was she _camping_? Why the hell would she be camping?

And she could feel…warmth. She was wrapped in it. Heat lapped at her face, danced across her stomach and wound its way around her feet. She was so very warm… and in pain. Every inch of her body stung in pain. Her left shoulder throbbed excruciatingly to the beat of her heart.

Through her haze she heard a voice calling her name. No. It wasn't her name. The roaring rapids were distorting the voice's call, whispering her name instead to the dark night.

She opened her mouth to call out to the voice, to tell it her name, tell it to stop… and tasted blood. The metallic liquid filled her mouth, crusted her – it wasn't night at all! Her eyes were crusted shut with blood. Ew!

Blair forced her eyes open in a disgusted panic and the blurry scene snapped into focus; awareness hitting in full force. She wasn't comfortably nestled in a dusty, dark tent camping near millions of melting green army men; she was lying on her back covered in glass shards in the middle of… Tiffany's? What the hell was she doing in Tiffany's?

"Well, you certainly weren't shopping for an engagement ring." Blair hadn't realized she'd voiced her question out loud until the voice had responded. "Let's check you for serious injuries and get the hell out of here before we're crispy critters, shall we?"

Serious injuries? Crispy critters? Out of here? What the hell was going on?

And then the voice had a face. And shoulders, and arms, and fingers… fingers that were roaming over her body, prodding and poking and generally pissing her off.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Blair snapped.

The fingers hovered just over her left shoulder.

"You've dislocated your shoulder, and I think you'll need a few stitches. But other than that, you're damn lucky to be alive." The voice was that of a man's and he was pulling her to her feet.

"What the hell are you doing?" She demanded again as he dragged her through the gaping hole where her favourite items usually sat on display.

"Broken, bruised and bloodied and she's still spitting fire," The man turned pale green eyes on her, "My kinda woman."

"Listen Bud –" Blair began haughtily, once she'd been drag free from the crumpled building.

"– Jonathan." The man cut her off, extending a hand.

Blair quirked a confused eyebrow, "Excuse me?"

"Not Bud. Jonathan. Jonathan Price." Jonathan grasped Blair's good hand and shook it firmly when she made no movement to extend it on her own.

"That's very lovely for you, Jonathan, Jonathan Price." Blair spat, "But just because you pulled me from a building –"

"– Burning building," He cut her off again; nodding to the building behind her that was, in fact, ablaze.

"Regardless," Blair snarled, refusing to acknowledge the cold terror creeping up her spine, "I'm not some whore who's going to fall onto her back to thank you for rescuing her from a _burning_ building."

Jonathan pulled the hand Blair hadn't realized she'd still been gripping back to ward off her comments, palms out between them, "Woa! Relax princess; I'm into saving damsels, not distressing them. I'm a doctor at Rockefeller University Hospital."

"Then we're agreed." Blair nodded, reaching out her good arm again to shake his hand, "Thank you for your help Dr. Price. It was very nice to make your acquaintance."

Jonathan held her hand firmly, "Not quite just yet Mrs…?"

"Blair. _Miss_ Blair Waldorf." Blair supplied, attempting to tug her hand free of his grasp.

"Not quite just yet, Miss Waldorf," He nodded towards her left shoulder, "That is going to need resetting. And like I said, you'll probably need a few stitches."

She leveled him with a disdainful glare, "Yes, as you've so kindly mentioned. But I'm in a hurry to meet a friend and I don't want to keep her waiting. So if you'll excuse me…?"

A look of concern crossed Jonathan's sharp features and he released Blair's hand to cup her face gently in his hands.

"What are you doing?" She questioned, his pale eyes inches from her hers. They were actually quite pretty if you were into deep, mesmerizing pools of never ending hazel-green.

"I'm concerned you might have a head injury. Do you know what day it is? Do you remember the blast?"

Blair gasped. The blast! Serena!

"Serena! I need to find Serena!" She pulled away from Jonathan and turned in the direction she'd last seen her blonde best friend. But she wasn't there anymore, and it was then that Blair realized that _nothing_ was there – the entire block had been leveled.

"Oh my God…" Blair squeaked before the side walk rushed up to meet her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Sir?" Arthur walked into the cabin with Jeffries at his heals.

"What is it Arthur?" Chuck sighed, his attention focused out the tiny window.

"I thought you'd like to know, Mr. Bass – sir," Jeffries stumbled over his words nervously, "We willl be beginning our descent in approximately ten minutes."

"Thank you, Jeffries." Chuck replied, his gaze only flickering to the lanky man when he lingered, clearing his throat awkwardly. Chuck lifted a dark eyebrow, "Yes?"

Jeffries hesitated, "Uh… well… The Captain didn't want me to mention it… but I felt you had a right to know…"

"Yes?" Chuck repeated impatiently.

Jeffries looked from Chuck to Arthur then back again and gulped, "O'Hare wouldn't accept the last minute changes to our flight trajectory due to our being a private aircraft. They suspect us of being in league with the terrorists responsible for the New York bombings and have notified the authorities. There will most likely be quite the welcome waiting for us when we land, Sir."

"Fuck." Chuck ground out through clenched teeth. He threw his scotch tumbler against the cabin wall, the cracked, transparent shards raining down on top of the jagged, black plastic pieces of what had been Arthur's blackberry.

Arthur eyed Chuck slowly. "Land where?" he asked the nervous co pilot.

"I'd rather not say," Jeffries stared at his feet intently, laughing nervously, "But there is a good chance we'll die on impact or slowly burn to death before the authorities get hang us for treason."

Arthur nodded his dismissal and Jeffries fled back to the safety of the cockpit.

Chuck raised somber eyes to meet Arthur's assessing gaze, "Any of the above would be more humane than how we'll all die if things are progressing down there the way I hoped they never would."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Vanessa sat cross legged on the living room floor; Jake curled into the triangle her legs formed.

"Ok. So Fitz is in the air and Dan and Jenny and Rufus are just riding out the worst of it at the loft." She took a reassuring breath, "That anchor lady did say that the phone lines were down in affected areas. And today's Wednesday – Serena had that early curtain call today! Dan probably didn't get her out the door until 9:00 a.m. He couldn't have been at the paper when that car blew up, munch. He just couldn't have."

A fat tear rolled down Vanessa's cheek and landed on Jake's head. He mewed softly and stood on his back paws to knead her thigh comfortingly.

"Just please let them all be alright," she prayed, "plea– oh! An update!"

She shot forward to turn the volume on the TV up all the way.

"_A terrifying discovery has the Nation paralyzed in shock this evening. Gill Bartlett, the driver of the armored vehicle that over turned nearly nine hours ago in Harlem has been found dead. He appears to have succumbed to the effects of an unknown chemical agent. Authorities are being tight lipped about the events surrounding Mr. Bartlett's discovery; however, reports are coming in that city officials were informed the chemical compound was highly lethal and at large in the population within an hour of the initial blast. It is unknown at this time how quickly the compound's effects are felt or how far it has spread. The Department of Public Health issued a statement earlier this morning urging anyone feeling nauseous, dizzy, or suffering from sudden and persistent nose bleeds to make their way immediately and calmly to the nearest emergency room. Please try to remain calm in this time of crisis. We will update you the moment new information becomes available."_

Vanessa's jaw dropped. Maybe she had lied to Nate this morning. Maybe it _was_ the end of the world.

* * *

-Lynne


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N Same old song and dance. Not mine. Not in any way meant to disrespect those who survived the horrific events of 9/11. **Please** take a quick moment to let me know your thoughts!**_

* * *

The blood would not come off his hands. He'd scrubbed them in water so hot they'd nearly cooked, for so long and hard his own blood had threatened to spill, but still it remained. It clung to his nails and dyed his palms; the creases his fortune teller mother use to call his 'life lines' stained darker and redder its neighbors. Life marred by death; too poetically fitting for words.

He gave up his useless actions; he'd be dawning milky latex gloves for the rest of the mission anyway. And nobody would be suspicious of a little blood on a Good Samaritan's hands at a time like this.

The clock read 5:25 p.m. By his calculations the virus would already have spread to the central and eastern states and be heading west quickly. By midnight the entire country would be infected, by sunrise; the entire continent.

His thing lips parted in a malicious smile, his cold eyes glinted in the tiny bathroom mirror.

Everything was going according to plan. He'd even been able to mask the virus as a chemical agent. It would take them hours, maybe days to figure out their mistake. And by then there wouldn't be enough soft tissue left on poor "Gill" to figure it out, let alone anybody left alive to care.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Sir," Arthur spoke calmly as oxygen masks rained from the ceiling, "If I may make a suggestion?"

"You may not," Chuck growled dangerously, grabbing for a yellow mask.

"But Mr. Bass –" Arthur attempted again.

"What do you want now, Arthur?" Chuck barked, snapping his mask roughly into place.

"The briefcase, Sir." Arthur replied simply, pointing a gnarled finger under the seat to Chuck's left.

Chuck eyed Arthur warily. His face was carved from stone; expressionless and unreadable. Chuck didn't like it. The man made him uneasy. The briefcase was too important to entrust negligently to a man like Arthur. It was the key to everything, the key to _**her**_.

He placed the silver case carefully in the older man's hands, and pinned him with a lethal glare, "Guard it your with your life."

Arthur nodded solemnly; "With all our lives, Sir."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There was something cold and hard under Blair's back. And something was covering both her mouth and her nose; making it difficult to breath.

"I wouldn't take that off just yet if I were you." She'd been hoping maybe he'd just been a dream; the annoyingly handsome and arrogant doctor. No such luck. He was real and sitting with his back to her, a white lab coat clinging to his broad shoulders.

"This is getting old – waking up to a nightmare with the grim reaper looming over me." He turned his head a fraction of an inch to acknowledge her comment. She heaved a heavy sigh, annoyed.

You'll want to leave that on," he repeated, his attention before him again as she wiggled her nose under what looked to be a surgeon's mask

"Good thing you're not me," She replied icily, slowly pushing herself into a sitting position on the cold, hard something she now realized was a makeshift examination table.

His chair groaned angrily as he spun to face her, "I said leave it."

His tone was ice, stalling her good arm in its quest to free herself from the surgical mask. Was she was wearing latex gloves too? "What the hell is all this?" she demanded, waving a gloved hand emphatically at the mask covering half her face.

"A necessary precaution," he shrugged, turning back to his desk to fiddle with a microscope.

"Against what, exactly?" Blair huffed, irritated, "You?"

He didn't react to her barb in the slightest. She stuck her tongue out at the back of his sandy head, nearly liking the inside of her mas, and rubbed the scratchy mask vigorously against her face.

"Is this your lair?" She spat, attempting to rile the good doctor into responding as she took in her surroundings. They were in a room no bigger than her foyer closet. And by the smell of it everything had been bleached a horrible off white.

"Hospital." He answered curtly, still fiddling intently with his precious microscope.

"I'm supposed to believe _this_," she swept a skeptical look around the tiny room, "is a _hospital_?"

"Believe what you want, Princess." He shrugged. Something about the way he said 'Princess' made Blair's spine stiffen. It reminded her entirely too much of another arrogant ass she preferred to pretend didn't exist.

"Don't call me that," she snapped crossly.

He didn't respond and she cocked her head to the side, contemplating him curiously.

This was not the same arrogantly handsome and charming – in a completely and totally beneath her sort of way – man who'd pulled her from a burning building. He seemed… colder, somehow.

"Will you quit playing with that thing and talk to me!?" Blair demanded, unnerved and irritated by his silence.

"This _thing_ just might save your life," He growled, his focus never leaving the microscope, "Unless daddy dearest can flash his gold card and turn back time."

"What the hell is your problem?!" Blair exploded, vaulting from the table and spinning his chair around to face her.

"My problem?! MY problem?" Jonathan yelled, pushing to his feet; his chair crashing to the floor. "Take a look outside, _Princess_." He jabbed the air violently with a gloved finger, his own surgical mask bouncing widely against his angry mouth, "This is it. This is the end. We're being _bombed_ for Christ sake! Bombed! And all you can think about is how the mask clashes with your Dolce!"

"You arrogant son of a–"

And then strong arms were hauling her back up onto the examination table roughly, the beguiled mask pushed violently from her face, reckless lips crushing hers aggressively.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chuck couldn't feel his legs. He knew they were there, still attached to his body. But he couldn't feel them.

"Arthur!" He yelled into the dark cabin, choking on the thick black smoke around him, "Arthur!"

The outline of Arthur's tailored suit and grey hair appeared through the smoke to his right, "Sir?"

"Status report!" Chuck demanded, attempting to unbuckle himself from his seat. His hands wouldn't reach down to his waist and he realized he wasn't sitting upright in his seat, but instead was pinned awkwardly on his side between the cabin wall and something extremely heavy.

"Jeffries appears to have suffered only minor lacerations," Arthur responded methodically, "Brennan and the rest of the crew are unfortunately deceased."

"Fuck!" Chuck swore viciously, "Are you injured?"

Arthur merely shook his head.

"And the briefcase?" Chuck demanded, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Arthur raised a tawny arm, the briefcase swaying slightly at the movement.

Chuck bucked against the heavy metal object pinning him in place, and roared: "Then get me the fuck out of here before the God damn plane explodes!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jonathan jumped back as if she'd burnt him, "I'm sorry. That was completely out of line."

"Yes. It was." Blair nodded her agreement, shimming her skirt back down her thighs as he paced the short length of the room.

His feet stilled abruptly, "You're quite the piece of work, aren't you?"

"Excuse me?" Blair arched an eyebrow, jamming an irate right hand against her hip.

"You know," he drawled, righting the chair that had suffered his outburst, "You still would have had my help if you'd told me you were married; I'm a doctor, it's my duty. You didn't have to whore yourself out for it; pretending to be a Miss instead of a Mrs."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Blair cried, confused.

"You talk in your sleep." Jonathan crossed his arms against his chest, "Do you want to tell me about the old bail and chain now? Chuck?"

"W-wha?" She reeled at his name, falling from the table.

And found herself in the good doctor's arms again; his hands no longer quite as vicious, his eyes a paler shade of hazel instead of the crueler green. He cradled her against him, mindful of her injured shoulder as he lifted her back up to her perch atop the examination table.

It dawned on her then.

He was jealous.

Leave it to her to get rescued by a handsome, charming, arrogant, and jealous ass of a doctor. And dammit if she didn't have a soft spot for arrogantly charming, handsome asses.

"Ex-fiancé," Blair stated simply, hissing in pain as she attempted to shrug off the statement.

"You're going to be sore for a while," Jonathan smiled a small smile apologetically, slipping her blouse from her left shoulder to examine her, "I set it while you were out. Gave you a shot of morph for the pain but it's probably wearing off."

"Thank you," Blair's answering smile was small and appreciative.

Jonathan nodded, clearing his throat awkwardly when his gaze lingered on her ruby lips.

Blair's hand flew to her mouth and she gasped. "My mask! You said not to take it off!"

"Yet," Jonathan corrected, a smile still tugging at his lips, "I said not to take it off _yet_. If you'd given me the chance to explain, I could have told you it was only until I checked your blood for contamination."

Blair noticed the tiny cotton ball stuck in crook of her left elbow with a band aid. "Contamination?" she asked, raising worried eyes to his.

He nodded, "Radiation, from the blast. You're clean," He tugged her blouse back into place and pulled two little, blue pills from the pocket of his lab coat, "and these should help keep you that way." He held them out to her. "We don't need the mask anymore," he added when she only stared at him skeptically.

She finally took them from his palm, "Thank you."

He nodded and turned to fish a bottle of water out of one of the white cupboards.

She studied his back, contemplating whether or not to she should apologize.

"It's ok, apology accepted." He quipped, catching her eye as he turned to hand her the bottle, "You were terrified and hurt... And I acted like a jealous prick."

"I didn't apologize." She pointed out, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning as she accepted the water from him.

He winked, "You were going to."

She laughed despite herself.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Sir?" Came Arthur's muffled voice from somewhere behind and to Chuck's right.

"Yes?" Chuck ground out through clenched teeth. The black smoke was getting thicker, and he could smell burning…everything. "Is Jeffries clear of the wreck, Arthur?" Chuck asked suddenly when the acrid smell of burning flesh reached his nostrils.

"He refuses to disembark without you," Arthur's voice became clearer as he moved to stand in front of Chuck, "This may be rather painful. I apologize but it must be done."

Chuck merely nodded and screwed his eyes shut as the old man braced his palms against the something that Chuck suspected was the heavy, metal exit door and pushed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"I'm going with you." Lily stated, hands on her hips.

"Mom, we went over this." Eric shook his head and sighed emphatically, "Somebody needs to stay here in case she comes here or the lines go back up."

Lily glared at her only son, "Then you stay. I'm going."

"Mom. No." Eric stepped quickly into her path and grabbed her shoulders, "You have to stay. I'll be fine. I have Bart's old satellite phone and we both have a walkie. I'll talk to you the whole way, I promise. It'll be fine."

"You don't have to do this, Eric." Lily lips quivered as she spoke, tears beginning to stream down her pale cheeks.

"It's Serena," He said simply.

Lily nodded shakily, understanding. "But we don't even know where she was when the attacks started. How are you going to find her?"

Eric pulled his mother into a fierce hug, "I don't know. But I will."

Lily squeezed him back tightly and a tiny sob escaped her.

"Mom. She'll be fine. I'll be back before you know it. I promise"

Lily nodded tearfully and Eric turned to leave.

"Wait!" Lily cried out suddenly, "I just remembered! She called while I was in the shower this morning! I let it got to voicemail! Maybe there is something in the background that will tell us where she was around the time the bombings started!"

She rushed through the penthouse, her silk robe billowing behind her like a cape. "Here! Listen!" she called out eagerly as the raced back into the foyer, her cell phone to her ear.

"What is it?" Eric needed to know, his breathing coming in short shallow gasps, "What is she saying?"

"She's drunk. I don't think she knew she was calling." Lily panted her eyes wide with hope, "I can hear Blair. I think they're in a Starbucks somewhere… no, on the corner of Fifth and East 75th! I can hear that snotty bitch of a waitress taking their orders."

Eric nodded. That he could work with. He kissed his mother's free cheek before turning to leave.

"Hold on," Lily's arm shot out to stop him, "There's more. It's faint, but I think she had a fight with Dan."

Eric shrugged, "Explains the drunkenness. But doesn't give us much else…"

"It gives us everything." Lily corrected, pushing the end button and grabbing Eric's hands, "If you had a huge fight with Derek before the end of the world hit, what would you do?"

"So she started off on Fifth and 75th and would have moved heaven and earth to get to Dan in Harlem." Eric squeezed his mother's hands once, attempting to reassure her. "_That_ narrows it down to about ohhh, only about 75 blocks or so."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Hurry up! Jesus!" Jeffries screeched as he ran into the passenger's cabin, arms flailing, "They'll be coming any minute!"

"Help Mr. Bass up," Arthur waved Jeffries over with a steady hand.

Chuck groaned in pain as they hefted his weight onto their shoulders. His legs were tingling and feeling – mostly a searing pain – was returning quickly.

"Arthur," Chuck dissolved into a coughing fit as smoky black fingers wound their way around his neck. "…briefcase…" he managed to choke out as the trio tumbled from the wreck into dwindling daylight.

Arthur nodded briefly and disappeared back into the fiery jumble of twisted metal.

Dragging in blissfully oxygenated breaths, Chuck eyed Jeffries suspiciously, "Brennan's dead. Tell me where we landed. Now."

Jeffries gulped nervously, "Cook County Jail." He rushed on when Chuck's expression turned murderous, "It was the only strip of land long enough to set down on within a thousand miles of New York. If we hurry the inmates – "

"I don't think the inmates will be a problem, Jeffries." Chuck cut him off, his attention directed over his shoulder at the quiet building in the distance.

Jeffries looked between the prison and Chuck, confused.

"Fucking Christ." Chuck swore vigorously, realizing the implications of his own words, "It made it this far already… they've altered it. "ARTHUR! Briefcase. NOW!"

"The briefcase, Sir." Arthur emerged from the aircraft to set the silver case at Chuck's feet. "If I may be so bold as to suggest," The eldest of the three men eyed Chuck meaningfully, "perhaps we should make haste."

Chuck dragged himself up quickly on unsteady legs, grimacing in pain as he turned his pockets inside out, "I want everything that can identify you burnt. Now."

Arthur visibly stiffened. "Benson?" He questioned, a fear Chuck had never seen the man experience edging into his voice.

Chuck nodded curtly behind Jeffries' back, ""Rings, name tags, everything. Cell phones too. He'll be tracing them by now."

"Who's Benson?" Jeffries questioned distractedly as he tossed everything on him into the fiery wreck.

Chuck glanced at Arthur.

Arthur glanced at Chuck.

"The devil himself," Chuck answered, avoiding Arthur's eyes as he bent to open the silver case in search of the surgical masks and gloves.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eric sighed and adjusted the school bag he hadn't used in five years on his shoulders. It contained Bart's old satellite phone – the crappier of the two unfortunately, the state of the art model had been mangled in the crash –, his and Chuck's walkie talkies, a few bottles of water, and all the medical supplies that he could carry. Not that they'd do him any good against what was coming.

The entire city was engulfed in a cloud of thick grey smoke. It was like a scene from one of those apocalyptic movies Chuck had had a major hard on for in the twelfth grade. Cars were overturned and lit on fire, mangled pieces of metal and cement spewed from gaping holes to blanket what he could see of the city. And it was eerily quiet. No sirens, no horns, no angry pedestrians shouting obscenities – nothing.

He quickened his pace, climbing over a small mountain of debris and praying that he'd find Serena and Dan.

And that they'd have Blair – alive and well – with them.

He adjusted the elastic holding his surgeon's mask in place and pulled the walkie talkie from his pocket with gloved hands to update Lily.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"You know you're pretty lucky…" Jonathan told her as he finished up suturing the last of her gashes, "Most of these won't even scar – mostly due to the skill of the extraordinary surgeon who just happened to be passing by when you were blown up…" he took a mock bow before pausing to pin her with a serious look, "but an inch to the left or the right," he traced the skin on either side of a gash on her neck, "and I'd be hard pressed to find you attractive right about now; all limp and lifeless."

She rolled her eyes, ignoring the shiver of fear running down her spine and changed the subject, "The radiation… you're clean too, right?"

He quirked an amused brow at her as he tugged his off his bloodied gloves, "Worried about me, Princess? What would your ex-fiancé have to say about that?"

A muscle in her jaw twitched slightly, "We haven't talked in eight years."

Jonathan pulled a fresh pair of latex gloves from his lab coat and she wiggled her own gloved fingers in a silent question, avoiding any further inquiries into the subject.

"It helps reduce the chances of contamination," he answered, snapping a glove into place.

"Your hands!" She cried, catching sight of the bloody scratches covering them.

He pressed his pointer and middle fingers to his neck, "Yup. Just as I thought – I'll live."

She heaved a heavy sigh and rolled her eyes heavenward.

"Alright, we're done here." He held out a hand to her, "I'll show you to your quarters now, milady"

Blair froze, "No. I'm can't stay here–"

"No." He cut her off.

"– I've got to find my friend." She finished, ignoring his interjection.

"No." He repeated firmly.

She glared up at him, "Yes."

He studied her, "I understand where you're coming from, I truly do… but the chances of her surviving that blast…"

Blair set her jaw firmly, shooting daggers at him with her eyes.

"Alright, Princess," Jonathan shook his head gravely, "Then it's been nice knowing you."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Benson hurled the transponder into the fireplace. He'd lost the signal before he could triangulate the Basstard's exact whereabouts. Fuck! Shit! Piss! He slammed the rest of his scotch back in one large gulp and turned on the TV, hoping that God would give him a sign. Anything to let him know he was still on the correct path.

A petite blonde woman flashed to life, a gnarled heap of twisted metal appearing in a small box to the left of her head on the screen. He stared at the heap of twisted metal. Was that…what used to be the tail of a plane? He squinted at the screen. It was! And there was the distinct outline of the 'B' of Bass Industries still faintly visible! His eyes flew to the ticker at the bottom of the screen.

So the Basstard was somewhere between Illinois and New York.

Benson sneered at his reflection in the TV screen.

Close enough to watch him hunt down his precious girl and slice her nipples to navel once he'd gotten what he wanted from her.

But too far away to stop him.

* * *

_A/N Alright, this time it really will be about a week until I can update. :) BUT YES, serena and dan WILL be in the next chapter.  
_

_Lynne_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N Same sh*t, different pile. This is in NO WAY intended to offend those who survived the horrible events of 9/11 or any terrorist related tragedies. Thanks to Red and DC. Loves. *please take a second to let me know how this is turning out!**_

* * *

Nate shifted uncomfortably under the body of the small transport plane. He'd been at if for hours. His legs were cramped, his fingers were numb, and he'd tried everything he could think of but the Cessna still wouldn't roar to life.

"We're going to have to delay the run until morning if you can't get her going soon," the pilot Nate frequently used for northern shipments said as his work boot clad feet appeared by Nate's head.

Nate jolted upright, slamming his head into the underbelly of the plane. "Fuck Grant. Nobody ever tell you not to sneak up on a man lying under a thousand pounds worth of metal?" he demanded harshly, holding his throbbing head in his hands.

Grant's deep laughter rumbled in his chest, "Sorry Captain. Didn't know you had your head up your own ass as well as the bird's."

Nate prickled. "I told you not to call me that."

Grant's bearded face appeared below the plane's tail, "Old habits," he shrugged. Warm green eyes studied Nate curiously, "What's got your panties all in a bunch this fine day?"

Nate grumbled under his breath incoherently.

"Ah. Woman troubles," Grant's scratched his scruffy auburn chin thoughtfully, "You and my V not getting along?"

Nate laughed humorously and exchanged the monkey wrench he'd been using for a socket wrench.

The burly man had been a pilot in the Australian Navy and had never given up the intense, and frequent, workouts of an officer. Even the man's muscles had muscles; his shoulders were broad enough to force sideways passage through many a doorways, his arms were thicker than a brick wall and his thighs were probably wider than Nate's waist.

And he has a soft spot the size of the Grand Canyon for one Miss Vanessa Abrams-soon-to-be-Archibald.

Nate loosened a bolt on the electrical panel, "You'd know before I would."

Nate normally found Grant's deep laughter to be contagious but today it was beginning to irritate him.

"Come on lad," Grant huffed as he attempted to fold his massive frame under the plane, "Let's see if we can't get this bird in the air before Eric pitches another fit."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"I want everyone's eyes peeled!" A petite, muscular woman yelled to the rag tag group of survivors huddled around her, "It will be dark in less than an hour; we need shelter."

A small boy of about seven clung to the ripped pieces of the woman's shirt. "There, Miss Chloe?" he mumbled around the thumb in his mouth as he pointed to what used to be a gas station.

Chloe shook her head, her long orange pony tail whipping from side to side with the movement, "No Zack. We'll need protection on all four walls."

"Miss Chloe!" an overly ample man called from his position at the back of the convoy, "Here!"

"No Garcia," Chloe called sharply without looking back, "Unless the McDonald's miraculously rebuilt itself since the rest of us passed it ten minutes ago; NO."

Garcia scowled and quickened his pace in an attempt to catch up to the head of the pack. He made to circumvent an over turned SUV but the rubble slipped beneath his large feet and he went down, hard.

Zack let go of Miss Chloe's shirt and scrambled back to help the man. He kinda looked like a younger version of Santa Claus to him and he didn't want younger Santa to be hurt.

Chloe noticed the small boy's departure and turned to the kid barely out of puberty to her right, "Johnson."

"Yes ma'am" Johnson nodded curtly. "I'll see if I can't hurry them along." He turned and carefully began to maneuver his way through the debris to the back of the convoy.

Chloe scanned what used to be the impressive New York City skyline. If she were inclined to be an emotional nitwit, the complete and utter devastation before her would be unbearable. The blasts had leveled nearly every building she'd past since she picked her ass up off the ground in Chelsea eight hours ago. They'd made it to Harlem and she'd yet to see a building safely and sufficiently able to shelter her troop.

But what really had her concerned were the locations of the blasts. She'd been able to work out from Garcia's account of the news broadcast that the first explosion had occurred just north of their current position in Harlem; leveling approximately six buildings and completely blocking access off the island for miles. Using the first blast as an anchor she'd been able to orient the remaining blasts; Chelsea, Murray Hill, Soho, Chinatown, Lower East Side, and the Financial District – all boroughs of New York with bridge access.

And so far nobody had seen a thing. Not a low flying plane, not a man with a C2 vest strapped to his chest – nothing.

"Miss Chloe?" A frail old woman with blue hair touched her forearm gently, "That building over there just might do, love."

Chloe took in the building she was pointing to, scrutinizing it carefully. The old bitty could serve with her any day. Chloe shifted her weight expertly from a pile of cement that used to be a sky scrapper to the hood of a scorched Honda. "Listen up people! We have a winner!"

"Chloe," a man she secretly referred to as Patch called out to her from across the sea of dusty grey, "over here."

"We only need o–" she started to snap, intending to give him a well deserved math lesson when she noticed the nearly hidden patch of beige inside the cave like building he was standing in front of. It almost looked like it was a pair of feet. She couldn't be certain from this distance… yes! They were feet! "Possible survivor! Johnson get your ass back up here, NOW! The rest of you, stay put!"

Johnson scrambled after Chloe, leaving the winded but other wise uninjured Garcia to mind Zack.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"_Eric?"_ Lily's nervous voice came through the walkie.

"I'm here Mom." Eric responded through his mask. He'd stopped describing what was left of the city half an hour ago when his mother's soft sobs were the only sound he could hear coming from the two-way radio.

"_Anything?"_ He could barely make out her words through all the static, but her tone was still very, very clear: panic.

"Not yet," he answered, keeping his voice as level as possible, "I'm sure there will be soon."

"_Eric?"_ He didn't like the way she'd said his name, he knew what she was going to ask him.

"NO." He barked fiercely as he staggered up a mountain of crushed concrete. He'd been walking for what seemed like hours and he was only just now coming to where the Upper East Side met East Harlem. "I'm not stopping until I find them."

"_Them?"_ Lily's crackly voice came back at him instantly as he crested the concrete mountain, but he barely registered it. Somebody was wading through the wreckage on the other side, just barely distinguishable through the haze.

"Mom. I found somebody. Somebody's alive!" Eric cried happily, his heartbeat racing in anticipation.

"_Serena?!"_ the word came through loud and clear, edged with desperation, but Eric barely heard it as he stumbled down concrete chunks and glass shards as quickly as humanly possible_._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nate stretched his legs out in the co-pilot seat. It had taken the two men another twenty minutes but they'd finally gotten the old girl to sputter to life.

He wondered what Vanessa was up to right now. Probably wiggling her hips to the 'beat' of whatever horrible band her sister was into at the moment and baking his favourite cookies. The TV was more than likely playing for a ghostly audience and Jake was probably crouched under the kitchen table, waiting to lap up whatever ingredients – and it was usually quite an astounding amount – she spilt. His little family.

He paled at the thought. Pretty soon it wouldn't be so little. Pretty soon there would be a tiny, screeching life demanding his every attention. What if something happened to Vanessa? What if there was something wrong with the baby? What if he just wasn't any good at being a father? He didn't know the first thing about babies or being a good father. How could he when his only example had been a coke head, abusive, cheating, worthless excuse for one? What if his own son or daughter hated him as much as he hated The Captain?

"Grant," Nate broke the comfortable silence the two men usually settled into on long northern runs, "Janine and the kids, do they always see you off when we head out this way?"

Grant checked a gauge and fiddled with a red switch before turning a broad smile in Nate's direction, "Surely do. They say they like to see me off when I'll be gone for longer than a week." He bounced his eyebrows exaggeratedly, "Although I think it has more to do with your ugly mug than mine."

Nate chuckled. He'd known Grant and his family since the company's conception seven years ago. He'd been a good friend and confident to Nate for the three years he'd run the company from abroad, and both he and Janine had been like the parents he'd never had ever since daily operations had switched to the Canadian branch the day he'd run into Vanessa in that torrential down poor.

"You planning on answering that thing anytime soon?" the older man asked him, his eyes on the horizon as Nate's cell phone jangled for the twentieth time since takeoff.

Nate pushed the end button without glancing at the screen and shoved the phone into his jacket pocket.

"I'll take that as a no," Grant adjusted their altitude competently, "But maybe as a yes to my earlier question."

Nate shifted uncomfortably as Grant eyed him, concerned.

"Do you feel like rehashing it?" Grant offered, referring to the argument he assumed the young couple had had.

"Vanessa's pregnant." Nate told him after a pause.

Grant studied the younger man's profile. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes downcast, and he was worrying a lose thread on the hem of his jacket. For a man who should be over the moon with joy, he looked downright miserable. "Oh." Grant said, measuring Nate's reaction out of the corner of his eye.

"Oh?" Nate stared at him in shock, "You're not going to congratulate me?"

"Didn't think you wanted me to," Grant shrugged casually.

Nate's furrowed his brow, confused, "Why not?"

"You don't seem that happy about it," Grant replied, keeping his attention in the sky.

Nate gaped at him, utterly confused, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know, boy," Grant shifted his gaze to meet Nate's; "Why _wouldn't_ you be?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Excuse me?" Blair demanded haughtily, one hand on her hip the other fidgeting with the chain she wore around her neck.

"If you're dead set on rushing to your death the second I finish saving your life and patching you up," Jonathan shrugged, "then I can't stop you, Princess."

She scoffed at the hated endearment.

"It'd be a shame to see you go", he continued with a wink as he patted her butt, "but I wouldn't mind watching you do it."

Blair growled, "You are despicable!"

Jonathan shook his head, "Not from where I'm standing."

"Are you really going to let a frail, little _woman_ go out _there_ on her _own_!?" she screeched, advancing on him dangerously.

He laughed. "You are neither frail," his pale eyes turned dark and flicked to her chest, "nor little… sweetheart."

Blair's pulse hammered in her ears and her nipples beaded despite themselves. It had obviously been entirely too long since she'd been with somebody who wasn't _him_ – insults and leering looks were not _turn-ons_! She folded her arms quickly across her chest to shield the evidence of her arousal from the good doctor. "You need to come with me," she ventured, trying logic instead of anger in an attempt to reign in her rebellious hormones, "Serena could be hurt and in need of medical attention."

He quirked an eyebrow at her sudden change in tactic, "And what about everyone here? I'm just supposed to tell Hippocrates where he can shove his oath and follow you into the mist?"

Blair huffed. He had a valid point. "I have yet to see anybody but us," she countered like a petulant five-year-old.

His tone grew serious, "They've all been quarantined in the basement. Exposure."

She'd yet to see the effects of the radiation exposure he kept insisting run rampant amongst the scarce survivors of New York and she didn't want to, if his expression was any indication. But she'd risk anything to get to the one person who'd been able to reach her after Charlie… And Dr. Pain in the Ass was going to help her – no matter what he thought.

She tried to look as innocent as possible. "Please?" she pouted, uncrossing her arms to trail a finger the length of his impressive bicep, "I need you."

He swallowed with some difficulty, "_They_ need me. The many outweigh the few; I can't go gallivanting after your friend, _Princess_."

As he talked she inched her hand back up his bicep, across his collar bone and up his neck to lightly trace a tiny scar on his left cheek, "Yes, you can."

"I have a responsibility to these people," he offered halfheartedly as the soft pads of her fingers brushed across his lips.

She nodded her agreement, slipping her fingers into his hair as his eyes locked onto hers.

"Then in case I never see you again…" she whispered, her warm breath tickling his face before she crushed her lips to his.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Hold on," Chloe's muscled arm shot out to halt Johnson's eager progression into the building, "something's not right." She squinted into the dark cavern, "The right foot."

"Yea, what about it?" Johnson shifted his weight impatiently.

"It's where the left should be…" She trailed off as she carefully maneuvered through the hole into the building. She kicked a bolder swiftly, uncovering the rest of the feet.

"Jesus." Johnson sucked in a breath sharply, following her closely and ignoring her orders to wait, "She's been blow to bits."

Chloe swept a pensive gaze the length of the scrawny boy. He was covered in grit and grime from head to toe and the surgical scrubs he wore were torn nearly to shreds; a result of having burrowed into nooks and crannies to pull survivors from New York's ruins. "What kind of intern did you say you were again?" she asked eyeing his scrubs doubtfully.

"Surgical," he replied automatically. "Why?" he added when he caught the disbelieving undertone to her question.

"No explosion I've ever seen could do that to human flesh," She explained warily, "and no chemical agent either"

"Then… what?" Johnson asked, scratching his head in confusion. A cloud of dust puffed from his hair at the action, revealing its honey blonde colour.

The redhead crossed her arms against her chest, and pinned him with an expectant look, "You tell me Mr. surgical resident… or have you never seen infected flesh?"

"I…uh…" Johnson stuttered. "Today was my first day," he continued, a deep blush creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks; evident despite the layers of soot.

Chloe nodded once, squatting down beside the limbs to get a closer look. "Looks viral – maybe something in the Ebola family," she elaborated.

"Viral?" Johnson questioned, confused, "Why would the news stations have broadcast it as chemical then?"

"Maybe because they didn't know it _wasn't_ chemical…" Chloe looked up at him, "maybe because they _did_."

Johnson's confused expression only deepened.

"Chemical affects only those exposed," She explained slowly, watching the light dawn in his blue eyes.

"Viral is contagious…" He finished, his eyes wide with terror.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eric tripped over his own excited feet and landed on his hands and knees, hard. He jumped up instantly, checking his gloved hands and jeans for tears; if he'd broken the skin and been exposed to the virus…. But there was only a rip in his right pant leg and his gloves were still intact - no torn flesh. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

The figure in the distance slowly came closer. Eric could only tell that it appeared to be a man in the dusty fog. And he was limping pretty severely.

"Hello?!" Eric called out to him, slowly picking his way through the debris field to avoid another fall, "Hello?!"

"Help me!" The man coughed, his breathing heavily labored.

"I'm coming!" Eric yelled back, navigating the safest path between two burning yellow cabs. He climbed over a downed light post and past a severed leg, pausing to take a breather against the cab of a red pickup truck. His breath was coming in quick gasps, sweat poring down his back and pooling at the waist band of his jeans.

Eric cursed viciously. His sister was missing, he hadn't been able to get a hold of Derek, he hadn't heard from Chuck since he'd been ordered to find Blair at all costs this morning, and if this man didn't have any useful information for him he'd have to leave him behind. Alone and wounded.

He was going to slit that bastard Alexei's throat himself.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Mmm…" Jonathan mumbled against Blair's lips, leaning down to grab her ass with both hands. He slid his hands down her thighs, parting them to yank her up and wrap her legs around his waist.

Blair pulled back to rock her hips against his groin, "So you'll come with me?"

He grinned. "Of course I will baby," he drawled huskily, purposely misunderstanding her meaning. He moved one hand to palm her ass and buried the other in her hair.

"Good, then let's go." She dropped her legs from his waist and slid down to the floor.

His fingers caught in her hair painfully, tugging through the tangles the Tiffany's blast had twisted in her locks and she pranced away from him. He reached out a hand to grab her wrist as headed towards the door. "You really should wait until it's light out to start your search," he quipped, "it's not safe for a _frail, little woman _all alone in the dark."

She screeched like a banshee, turning on her heel to face him, "You arrogant, selfish, son of a whore!"

"That's not a very nice thing to say," Jonathan smirked, "You've never even met mother."

She whipped around furiously and pushed the entire contents of his desk to the floor before stomping her way from the building and into the dwindling daylight.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nate averted his eyes from Grant's pointed gaze. "No reason not to be, right?"

"You don't sound all that convinced," Grant replied.

Nate sighed a heavy, frustrated sigh. "I'm just…" he trailed off, massaging his temples slowly.

"Terrified," Grant nodded, shifting his attention back to flying the small plane, "Yea. That was my first reaction too."

Nate considered Grant's confession. "So what changed?" he asked

"I realized I wasn't going to know what kind of father I'd be until it was too late and I already was one," Grant smiled, "All you can do is love them and hope for the best."

Nate scoffed silently. He'd come from the loins of a man who abandoned his family, his only son, in favor of whores and blow; a selfish and sinister man who as good as murdered his wife. He may not have been on the roof of that building that night but it was his hands that pushed her to do it, his hands that spilt her blood.

If he left it up to hope this baby was fucked.

Grant eyed Nate; he didn't look convinced. Well the boy would figure it out for himself eventually– Grant would just have to nudge him in the right direction until he did. "You should get that," he said nodding towards Nate's pocket as the ringing began again, "it's probably Vanessa."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Nate muttered under his breath as fished his cell from his pocket to flip it open.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The figure emerged from the fog as Eric weaved closer. The man was covered in blood. It was everywhere. His hair was matted to his head, his once beige khakis were caked with it, and his dress shirt was no longer whatever colour it had started out being but was soaked a deep red.

"Jesus Christ, buddy." Eric gasped as the man lurched forward and into his arms.

"Serena…" The man coughed, his head lolling on Eric's shoulder.

"What did you just-" Eric stopped short, his heart in his throat when he recognized the contours the man's bloody face, "Dan?! Where's Serena?! Where's Blair? Where the fuck is Serena!?"

Dan's knees buckled and Eric staggered backwards under his full weight.

"Serena…" Dan mumbled again, quickly loosing consciousness.

"DAN!" Eric growled, hauling his sister's blood soaked boyfriend to his feet, "Where. Is. Serena?"

"Don't know" Dan sputtered, trying to support his own weight solely on his right foot.

"Jesus," Eric wheezed, taking in Dan's left leg. His foot was twisted grotesquely at his ankle and white bone poked out from blood coated skin, "Your ankle."

The mention of his injury seemed to remind Dan of the fact that his foot was barely attached to his body. He blanched, his eyes rolling back in his head as he began to slump backward. Eric dove after him, shoving his hand under Dan's head to shield it from the jagged rubble, and landing on top of him.

A sharp pain shot through Eric's hand. He realized belatedly exactly what he'd just done when he felt the warm liquid seep from his hand and pool in the fingers of his surgical gloves.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blair paced just outside the entrance to the 'hospital' fuming. Arrogant son of a bitch! He was insufferable! Absolutely and completely the most vile, and rude person she knew! ...of the people who's existence she currently acknowledged, anyway.

She kicked at a telephone booth angrily. _He_ was the last person she wanted to be thinking about right now. After everything that had happened between them – and everything that _hadn't_ – he still wormed his way into her thoughts unbidden. She hadn't even spoken to him since… well, in years. Hadn't laid eyes on the Basstard since …Paris.

She shook herself from her reverie. It could not be a good sign that one jackass brought on thoughts of the other. Or that their actions appeared to parallel each others. 'The other' had tortured her in high school making her wait for his answer; 'the one' was torturing her now –leaving her waiting to see if he'd follow her, pacing like a hobo outside some squat and decrepit building… that had just fallen in on itself!

The thunderous sounds of concrete splintering muffled Blair's terrified screams.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"We need to get everyone together, now." Chloe barked and rose quickly from her squat, disrupting a few more boulders.

"Wait-" the almost non surgical resident ordered as he noticed something beneath the rubble she'd dislodged, "there. Something just moved."

"Probably just rats feasting on the dead," Chloe countered, dusting off her cargo pants.

"There!" Johnson yelled, pointing emphatically "It did it again!"

Chloe sighed. The structure didn't look like it would support itself much longer and she was anxious to get the hell out away from whatever ate the flesh from that girl's bones and out of Manhattan. These civilians were going to be the death of her, literally.

But the scrawny kid had seen more than his fair share of limbs poking out from demolished buildings and scorched cars…and if somebody were alive… "Where?" She snapped, shaking off the hand he'd placed on her bicep.

"Here!" Johnson cried excitedly, rushing forward awkwardly to push a concrete chunk aside, "Jesus fuck! She's alive!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." Eric cursed violently. He'd just pierced the protective latex glove and his skin. And possibly signed his own death warrant.

Dan stirred beneath him, "Eric?"

Eric vaulted off of Dan and began pacing as best as he could, "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

"ERIC!" Dan yelled, pushing himself into a sitting position delicately.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." Eric chanted, clutching at his bloody hand tightly.

"ERIC!" Dan yelled again, throwing a small concrete shard at his chest.

"Shit!" Eric focused glazed eyes on Dan, "the infection. We need to get to Blair. NOW."

"Infection? Blair? What the fuck are you talking about!?" Dan screamed up at him from the ground.

Eric continued to stare at him with unseeing eyes, "Blair. Fuck. What if she's dead? What if she's d – the warehouse! The fucking warehouse! YES!"

"ERIC!" Dan bellowed, and threw another concrete shard at him. It hit the sandy haired man between the eyes, snapping him from his daze.

"We need to get out of here," Eric told him, his expression grave.

"I agree," Dan nodded apprehensively, "Just as soon as we find Serena."

"No," Eric spat vehemently, advancing on Dan dangerously, "NOW."

Dan craned his neck to glare up at Eric as he came closer, "Over my dead body."

Eric came to a halt in front of Dan, his arms crossed harshly against his chest, as what little daylight lingered gave into the night, "That can be arranged."

* * *

_A/N Yea, I know. That wasn't a week. Well... it took a hold and wouldn't let go. BUT I'm locking it in the closet until after my paper is due..... :). Thanks for being patient!_


	6. Chapter 6

**_A/N Extra long chapter to make up for the absence :D (5000 words...). Same disclaimer as always. NOT intended in ANY way to be offensive to any survivor of horrific incidents such as the horrible events of 9/11 or the recent terrorist attacks across the ocean._ Please take a minute to drop my your opinion, good or bad!**

* * *

Vanessa paced the length of the normally cozy Toronto apartment frantically. She'd been trying to get a hold of Nate for five hours. Nothing. She'd nearly filled his voicemail and _still_ nothing. And she hadn't been able to reach Jenny or Dan or Rufus either. She'd even tried Serena. Nothing. At this point she'd even try calling the devil himself if it would get her in contact with Nate. But she didn't because she knew it wouldn't – Nate hadn't talked to Chuck in over a decade, though he'd never told her why.

"Come on, baby," Vanessa murmured, staring at her cell phone and willing it to ring. She hadn't put the pink plastic thing down since she'd woken from her nap to find the world crumbling to pieces around her. What if she put it down to shower and she missed his call? What if she set it down to pee and missed the chance to call him during the only ten seconds he would hear it? No. She'd keep it grasped tightly in her sweaty palm until she got a hold of him_. _

Her sock feet shuffled from hardwood to linoleum for the thousandth time that afternoon, "Please pick up your phone. Please. I just need to hear your voice. Come on." Her stomached growled loudly as she turned to pace from the kitchen back to the living room.

She should probably eat something. She hadn't eaten anything since those couple bites of scrambled eggs she'd forced down at breakfast this morning. And that had been before Nate had left. Nearly nine hours ago. She threw open the fridge door and grabbed the first thing her hand came into contact with. "Please answer, please answer, please answer," She prayed, gnawing on the block of cheese as she pushed speed dial number one for hopefully the last time that day. Nothing.

"Dammit!" she screamed, launching the mozzarella block against the far wall, "Answer your phone!"

Terrified by her outburst, Jake scrambled from his hiding place under the kitchen table and dove for the couch.

"Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you, Munch. It's alright now, come on out," She cooed to the terrified animal, trailing after him regretfully. She knelt down beside the sofa to entice him out from under the overstuffed leather. A sharp pain tore across her lower back and shot through her abdomen.

Hissing, she shot upright.

The baby.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Mr. B-Bass?" Jeffries stumbled along the deserted highway; his crisp white suit stained a deep red and heavy with smoke. "C-Could we s-stop soon?"

"No." Chuck spat without looking back at the scrawny man.

"We are approaching civilization, Sir. It would be beneficial to sample the virus modifications." Arthur stated looking at the silver briefcase Chuck had reclaimed five miles ago. "We will also need to rehydrate within the hour, perhaps pausing to rest for the evening is in order."

Jeffries tripped over his own feet and landed face first on the pavement. Neither Arthur nor Chuck stopped to aid the man as he scrambled to his feet awkwardly, readjusting his surgical gloves and mask.

"I'll give the orders here!" Chuck barked, limping as the heavy silver case struck his legs where they had been pinned to the cabin wall.

"Sir," Arthur glanced at Chuck's battered legs, "perhaps it would be wise to entrust me the briefcase?"

Chuck stopped and turned to glare at the grey haired man, his chest rising and falling quickly, and a distracted Jeffries nearly stumbled into him from behind. "Arthur," he spat the word so forcefully his mask nearly left his face, "are we in New York?"

"No. Currently we are ambling down the side of a deserted road located somewhere in the middle of Ohio, Sir." Arthur stated matter-of-factly, readjusting his suit jacket and tie.

"And are really frikken exhausted," Jeffries panted, doubled over at the waist, his hands on his knees, "and could use some water."

Both men ignored him.

"Then we don't stop." Chuck growled, an inch away from the older man's nose.

"Sir, I understand-" Arthur began calmly but Chuck cut him off.

"UNDERSTAND?!" he bellowed into the pitch black night, "Undertstand!? Tell me exactly what it is that you think you understand old man?!"

Arthur remained stoic, his tailored suit charred and smoky but otherwise perfectly in place.

"Are you beside yourself with worry about your _'niece'_, is that it?" Chuck spat dangerously, jabbing the tawny man's underdeveloped chest.

Jeffries glanced worriedly from Chuck to Arthur, Arthur to Chuck.

"Sir, it is impractical to rehash events of this magnitude at a time like this." Arthur told him, his expression never wavering, "It was an unfortunate decision on my part for which I have paid greatly. These events shall rest of my conscious until the moment of my death, which," Arthur glanced pointedly at the nothingness surrounding them, "may be sooner rather than later if we do not procure an untainted shelter and obtain water."

Chuck's chest rose and fell rapidly. Sweat drenched his brow and pooled in the small of his back. They'd escaped the prison without facing the authorities in a Mexican standoff. In fact they hadn't come across another human being, alive or otherwise, the entire three hours since their crash landing. The virus had eaten the city alive. It disturbed Chuck down to the very core of the soul few people knew existed. And terrified the living shit out of him. "We need to get to her," his voice was dangerously low.

"I tend to be in agreement," Arthur dabbed at his brow with a dirty handkerchief, "however, there are too many unknown variables to whatever virus modifications he's made to risk traveling during hours of limited to no visibility. We risk infecting ourselves; stumbling around unknown territory in the dark."

Chuck glared at Arthur. Arthur merely blinked unwaveringly. Jeffries glanced from man to man, utterly confused.

"We leave at first light," Chuck stated, his deadly tone leaving no room for argument as he turned to limp down a dirt path.

"Understood, Sir." Arthur nodded, turning to follow his limping employer to the house barely visible through the dark.

"Where are we going?" Jeffries questioned, trailing after the two men ignored.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chloe kicked a few boulder sized concrete hunks out of the way carefully, "She looks uninfected but there's blood everywhere. We need to get her out – get the others over here now!"

Johnson spun around and rushed into the street, stumbling several times on the unsteady rubble, waving his arms frantically.

"And see if anybody has a fucking flashlight!" Chloe yelled after him, squatting to cover the other, infected limbs with heavy cement chunks as the rest of the convoy raced over. "Garcia prop what's left of that wall up!" she ordered, striding over quickly to the hefty man as he lumbered over, "We don't need it coming down on top of us once we start moving shit around. Everyone else, get in here and get these off her ASAP. And stay away from the east wall." She indicated the area sternly, one hand on her hip, "The rats are feasting on a severed head."

Garcia paled, gagging violently.

"Garcia," Chloe barked, "You can toss your cookies later. Support that wall – it goes then entire building goes and then we're _all_ rat food."

Garcia nodded jerkily, clamping his lips shut.

The little old woman with the blue hair held out a tiny flash light, the narrow beam barely beating back any of the dark night.

"Rats?" Patch choked out, motionless.

"DIG!" Chloe barked, and he startled into action.

The rest of the pack quickly followed suit.

"Ankles!" Johnson yelled excitedly, pushing a jagged wooden blank from the woman's legs.

A young black woman lifted a mangled car tire from the trapped woman's chest, "Female! She's female!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dan glared up at Eric from New York's scattered remains, "Have you lost your fucking mind!?"

Eric glowered down at Dan, "Get up! We're leaving, NOW."

"Not without Serena!" Dan screamed loudly, throwing his hands in the air.

"You either get up off your ass and come with me," Eric spat menacingly, barely above a whisper, "Or I leave you here, injured and alone, to die."

Dan reeled backwards, shocked and appalled, "What the fuck is wrong with you!? She's your _sister! _Your fucking _sister!_"

"I KNOW THAT!" Eric exploded, kicking dust into Dan's face, "Don't you think I know that?! This is bigger than her, bigger than all of us!"

"What the fuck are you talking about!?" Dan screamed, rubbing the dust out of an eye, "What the hell is going on?!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Okay," Vanessa massaged tiny circles at the small of her back with trembling hands, "I just need to sit down and relax." She lowered herself carefully to the leather couch, laying a protective hand to the small hill of her stomach. Jake vaulted from under the sofa to cower under her knees, terrified. "Daddy is fine, honey. No need to worry. He's fine." Vanes rubbed soothing circles against her belly as she spoke, "His takeoff was probably just delayed. He's probably laughing with Uncle Grant somewhere over the Hudson Bay right about now. He'll call us just as soon as he lands. Don't worry."

Silent tears rolled down Vanessa's cheeks and dribbled onto the old Darthmouth t-shirt of Nate's she liked to wear to bed because it smelled like him.

He was fine. He was fine. He was fine. There hadn't been any reports of any attacks in Canada. He was fine. But she'd turned off the TV nearly an hour ago…

She shifted forward carefully to reach the remote she'd abandoned on top of the coffee table when she'd been unable to stand one more terrified reporter rehashing the destruction and chaos that was all that was left of the city she grew up in. No sharp shooting pain this time. She breathed a heavy sigh of relief as she settled back down into the plush cushions. The ancient television flicked to life; greeting her with fuzzy nothingness. Frowning, she switched the channel to CNN. More fuzzy nothing. Her stomach fell to her knees as channel after channel after channel showed the same thing.

Nothing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The tiny farmhouse appeared to have been abandoned sometime last century. The walls barely stood up under their own steam and the roof sagged to a few millimeters above Chuck's head. Grass grew through gaps in the floorboards, doors creaked loudly and the kitchen cupboards hung crookedly on their hinges. And there was no electricity or running water. But there was an old wood burning stove and mattresses enough for three exhausted plane wreck survivors to crash for the night.

"Sir," Arthur nodded slightly towards the plate of half eaten food in front of Chuck, "You will need your strength for the upcoming voyage."

Jeffries had even managed to scrounge enough eggs from the old henhouse out back to feed three half starved grown men. He'd scarffed down his portion and disappeared up the staircase to pass out on a squeaky old mattress half an hour ago. Chuck had eaten as much of his own eggs that he could stomach, pushing the rest around a plate that was older than his grandmother and Arthur combined.

"Mr. Bass?" Arthur inquired when Chuck merely pushed a forkful of greenish yellow egg back and forth.

"What is it?" Chuck snapped.

Arthur studied his profile. He sat at what once could have been called a kitchen table but was now no more than a few slabs of rotting wood held together precariously by tiny, rusty nails. He'd removed his jacket and tie, the dress shirt he wore underneath a pristine pink over his shoulders and down his back; the buttons at his front smudged with soot and sweat and blood. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, the flesh on his forearms blistered and painfully red. His hair, singed from the heat of the wreck, spiked every which way from the restless actions of his hands. His shoulders slumped and his eyes were red rimmed from smoke and unacknowledged tears.

"Perhaps you would feel better if you rested," Arthur offered.

"I'd feel better if we were in New York and she was safe and sound," Chuck countered, the edge to his voice fading. He sighed and dropped his fork to rest his head in his hands, "Or better yet if this whole mess had never happened."

"The virus or the girl, Sir?" Arthur asked pointedly.

Chuck raised his tired eyes to Arthur's, "I only want what her blood can give us. She has nothing else to do with this."

Arthur considered his words, "The child-"

"Is none of your God damn business," Chuck snapped, venom dripping from his words, "and if you want to live to see the sunrise it'll stay that way."

"Respectfully, Sir," Arthur returned, "that is untrue and you would do well to keep it in mind."

Chuck glared daggers at Arthur, his spine ramrod straight, "I've never forgotten."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Faster!" Chloe barked, heaving a hunk of gnarled metal from where she thought the woman's knees should be. "Shine the light over there!" she ordered the little blue haired lady, motioning towards Johnson a few feet away.

"Fuck," Patch swore viciously, as the weak beam of light flickered over the half exposed woman "she's bleeding everywhere."

"Faster!" Johnson cried anxiously as he lifted a section of what used to be the ceiling from the woman's head. "Shit!" he screamed as blood spurted everywhere, "I think she's nicked an artery! Hurry! Get this shit off her!" Blood gushed crimson over Johnson's hands, coating the remnants of the building piled on top of the mystery woman a red so dark it was nearly black. "She's bleeding out!" he screamed, panic raising his voice an octave.

"Hurry!" Chloe roared.

"She's not going to make it," Patch shook his head; "there's too much blood!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"What the hell is going on?!" Dan repeated when Eric only glared down at him silently.

"New York's been hit," Eric told him quietly.

"Yea, I can see that," Dan shot back sarcastically, glancing around them at the mountains of cement pointedly.

"There's a viral component to the attack," Eric clarified. He swept a look the length of Dan's blood caked body, "we've both been exposed."

"W-What?" Dan stuttered, terrified, "NO! He told me it'd be radiation!"

"What?" Eric demanded icily, advancing on Dan. "Who told you that!? Did you know this was coming?!"

"NO!" Dan yelled back, shrinking away from the force of Eric's sudden anger, "The janitor in our building! He's a Vietnam vet! He said the blasts were nuclear!"

Eric's breathing leveled out slightly, "We'd already be dead if they were."

Dan studied Eric, an busy eyebrow quirked suspiciously, "What's going on? How do you know all this?"

Eric turned his back on Dan, ignoring his questions, "I'm leaving. Are you coming or not?"

"ERIC!" Dan boomed, struggling to his uninjured foot, "What the FUCK is going ON!?"

Eric whipped around to face a blood covered Dan, "There's a virus. We've been exposed. Unless we get to a warehouse in midtown, and get there soon, we'll be seeing a lot more of each other's insides than we ever wanted to!"

"There's a cure?" Dan demanded, teetering on his right foot. "And what the hell does Whoredorf have to do with all this?!"

Eric averted his eyes from Dan's, "We were close to manufacturing a cure from her blo- … a source… when the attack hit."

Dan froze, "we?"

Eric didn't respond. He pried the surgical glove from his hand to inspect his injury.

"Chuck's involved in this isn't he!?" Dan growled, "That son of a bitch can't keep his nose of out anyone's business!"

Eric startled, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Nothing," Dan spat, "We get Serena, and then we get your cure." He bent to retrieve a gnarled portion of a metal support beam to use as a walking stick, "And then we slit Chuck Bass's fucking throat."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Vanessa swallowed the lump in her throat. No signal. Not even the Canadian channels were coming through. She frantically hit Nate's speed dial on her cell again, screwing her eyes shut and holding her breath as it rang. Nate finally picked up.

"NATE!" she cried, tears of relief flooding down her face, a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding whooshed from her lungs.

"I'm sorry I didn't call sweet pea. Takeoff was delayed and we're only on our way no– " Nate cut off abruptly as he realized she'd called him by his given name, "What's wrong?"

Sobs wracked Vanessa's body and stole her voice.

"V? What happened? Are you ok?" The smooth timber of his voice sent shivers of relief up Vanessa's spine until cool realization washed over her. He'd only asked after her. Not the baby.

"We're fine – or at lest we are now," she told him, her voice small.

"Oh…uh…yea I – ," Nate fumbled awkwardly across the line.

"New York's been hit," Vanessa blurted, cutting him off, "I can't get a hold of Dan or Jenny or anyone."

"Hit? With what?" Came Nate's voice, confused with the sudden change in topic.

"Some sort of atta–" A loud bang had Vanessa tearing the phone away from her ear. "Fitz? What was that? Did Grant hit another goose?" she questioned when the clatter had subsided.

But Nate was no longer there.

The line was dead.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chuck sat on the floor by the stove, his back against the only somewhat steady wall of the kitchen. Arthur and Jeffries were somewhere above him, catching what little rest they could before he dragged back out into the desolate streets of Illinois at first light. He pressed the heels of his hands into tired eyes. From the moment he'd discovered what Alexei had done he'd hoped this day would never come.

He'd known Alexei since the man's first day at Bass Enterprises. He'd walked in on a fifteen year old Chuck; shirtless and draped in blondes on his father's oak desk. They'd gone for a beer (once Chuck had finished with his blondes, of course) and had been friends ever since.

Or at least Chuck had believed them to be. He hadn't noticed the changes in the man ten years his senior when he'd started dating Blair Waldorf (if you could call screwing your best friend's girl behind his back dating.) He'd been too busy falling bowtie over heels in love with the brunette harlot to care that the man appeared to have one too many screws lose.

And boy had he fallen for her. She'd been his reason for waking, for breathing, for _living._ Even after Nathaniel had found out he'd been unable to deny her. Unable to ignore her, to abandon her –to abandon them– and be the friend Nathaniel needed after The Captain and Anne … And then Charlie… and Blair had…

Chuck shook his thoughts back to Alexei. After Bart's limo had been broadsided two short weeks after Charlie… Chuck had taken over daily operations, throwing himself into the company and copious amounts of liquor to forget. He'd put Alexei in charge of vaccination development, medical technologies, and infectious disease research – anything that reminded him remotely of Charlie. He'd been too busy punishing his liver, and himself, to notice the older man's growing disdain for him. Or to discover the secret projects Alexei had begun developing, hidden within the Bass Empire.

Chuck fingered the wool garment in his pocket. She'd left it by accident the last time he'd seen her... Paris. He had its pair shoved somewhere in the back of his nightstand drawer in Tokyo. He wasn't sure when or why he'd begun carrying her half of the pair around with him but he'd been doing it for months now. And somewhere along the line the band of precious metal he'd never gotten around to giving her had made its way into his pocket too.

Chuck's head snapped up and he jerked his hand from his pocket as Jeffries ran screaming into the kitchen, splattered head to toe in blood.

Someone else's blood.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Flashlight! Over here!" Chloe barked the order and the old woman obeyed instantly. The pile of rubble surrounding the crushed woman's head turned from black to a bloody red-grey under the miniscule light source.

The black woman shrieked hysterically, dropping a cement slab back onto the rubble pile, "A rat! It's chewing on an eyeball!"

"Rats!" Patch yelped, "They're everywhere!" He turned from the rescue effort and sprinted further into the bowels of the crushed building.

"It's not her eyeball!" Chloe roared, heaving a heavy section of cement off the woman's legs, "Keep going!

Johnson pressed a hand to the woman's throat, pinching off the nicked artery. "God dammit, get back here!" he bellowed after the rest of the group as they scurried after Patch, terrified.

Chloe swung her gaze back to Garcia. All the colour had drained from his face and his chubby legs were shaking violently; his knees about to buckle. "Mother of FUCKING pearl!" Chloe shoved the last bolder from the young woman and met Johnson's fearful, wide eyes. "Can we move her?"

Johnson opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, "But what about -"

Chloe cut him off callously, "Garcia's about to hit the dirt. We either leave her here, chase after the scardy cats and get flattened right along side 'em, or we get the fuck out of here. Can. We. Move. Her?"

Johnson nodded jerkily.

"Hold on Garcia!" Chloe ordered forcefully, grabbing the girl's ankles. "Get her wrists! Let's go!" she snapped at Johnson when he remained frozen.

"If I let go of the artery she'll bleed to death," Johnson explained, his breath coming in nervous pants.

"If we leave her here she won't have that luxury," Chloe spat, "Wrists. Now."

"No," Johnson shook his head, "You're stronger than me. Take this end. Sit her up; keep her head above her heart. Maybe she won't bleed out."

Chloe nodded once, decisively and quickly switched positions with Johnson. They hefted her awkwardly into a sitting position, moving as quickly as they could over the uneven blood-slicked rubble.

"Hold on, Garcia!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Jeffries?" Chuck barked the question as he pushed himself to his feet. He'd been sitting in the same position for hours and his muscles protested loudly and painfully.

The blood soaked co-pilot didn't respond. He stood frozen, eyes wide; mouth unmasked and open in a silent scream.

"ARTHUR!" Chuck bellowed to the ceiling.

Arthur hurried down the staircase quickly, as disheveled as Chuck had ever seen him. "Sir?" he asked, traces of sleep still fogging his voice.

"Jeffries!" Chuck yelled, waving his arms vigorously at the man doing a spot on impersonation of Carrie before him.

Arthur took in Jeffries, blood dripping down his form to puddle at his feet and seep between the gaping floor boards. "It doesn't appear to be his own," he stated. He quickly inspected Chuck's form visually, "nor mine, nor yours."

"Blood… he spit it everywhere!" Jeffries mumbled, swaying slightly; eyes glazed over.

"FUCK!" Chuck swore, raking a hand through his hair angrily, "he's been infected. How the fuck was he infected?! I thought you checked all the God damn rooms Arthur!"

Arthur merely shrugged, "Then I appear to have been mistaken."

"Jesus. Where the fuck is his mask!?" Chuck yelled as Jeffries swayed dangerously, his knees beginning to buckle.

"I instructed him to sleep with both the mask and gloves in place, Sir." Arthur put in.

"Well he didn't, did he?" Chuck demanded forcefully, moving to steady the catatonic copilot on his feet.

Arthur's bony hand reached out to stop him, "We need to depart immediately."

Chuck threw Arthur's hand from his blistered forearm. "I will not leave him here to die," he spat, his voice low and full of danger, "We're leaving NOW and he _is_ coming with us."

"I wish to protest vehemently," Arthur told him, smoothing a stray gray hair to his head.

"Noted," Chuck growled, grabbing his suit jacket from the table and struggling into it.

"He will infect us both," Arthur warned him, face expressionless.

"Then you'll have more of your precious fucking samples to analyze, won't you? Bring him." Chuck spat, grabbing the silver case from under the table and stalking into the night.

Arthur nodded, shrugging out of his jacket and wrapping it around Jeffries' saturated, crimson shoulders to follow Chuck into the abyss.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Watch your footing!" Johnson yelped as a rat scrambled out from a crevice.

Chloe's steel toe boot came down on the animal's spine, snapping it sickeningly. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Garcia's legs buckle and his head roll back. "Johnson. MOVE." She ordered through clenched teeth. Garcia's hefty form hit the ground moments before the south wall collapsed. "MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!" Chloe yelled as what was left of the ceiling began to rain cement hunks down on them. She screamed as a metal beam speared her left leg to the ground just shy of the street, "Get out!"

Johnson froze, the woman's ankles still held firmly in his hand, "What about you!?"

"Get here out of here!" Chloe screeched, lunging forward what little she could to shove the woman free of the falling building as metal and cement crumbled around her, encasing her in a tomb.

Johnson flew backwards into the pitch black night. Crimson red pooled from his unconscious form, painting a gruesome halo around the dying mystery woman on the shards of glass and cement carpeting New York.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"No," Eric shook his head vehemently, "Cure. Then Serena."

Dan shot daggers at him with brown eyes, "No."

"We won't make it six hours without the antidote. And we might not find Serena before then." Eric turned on his heel, leaving Dan to navigate the treacherous rubble on his own.

Dan leaned heavily on his metal crutch. "If she's still alive by then to find!" He roared as he slowly hoped after Eric into the darkness.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"NATE?!" Vanessa screamed hysterically as she vaulted from the couch; forgetting the pains from earlier. She paced back and forth, clutching her little pink cell phone in one hand the forgotten remote in the other, waiting for him to call back. He _would_ call back. She hadn't just heard the plane explode. Grant had just hit a goose, that's all. He'd hit one two years back on a return flight from Nunavut. Vanessa had tagged along to drop off used books and clothing at the local school and had screamed bloody murder when the poor animal had passed through the engine because it'd sounded like the plane was exploding. Both men had nearly died laughing at her. That's what was happening now. Nate would call her back and laugh at her like he had then. She'd tell him about the attacks and he'd rush home to be with her and everything would be fine. He'd be fine.

But New York hadn't just been leveled by terrorists then… and Grant hadn't hit so much as an insect since…

Vanessa whirled back around to face the TV, frantically searching for coverage of a fiery plane wreck. Still no signal. A radio! She swept frenzied glances around the apartment. Where was the radio?! The kitchen! Nate had put it by the stove because she liked to listen to music and dance while she baked. She launched the remote control blindly at the coffee table, barely registering the sound of plastic shattering into jagged pieces against the hardwood floor as she tore into the kitchen. Ignoring the searing pains stabbing her abdomen, she fiddled with the dials until a man's grave voice filled the tiny room.

"…_blasts appear to have been restricted to the Manhattan area. Reports of explosions in the Albany and Syracuse areas can not been confirmed. Public Health officials have issued a chemical contaminant warning for any and all states bordering New York State and a quarantine order has been issued and is currently in strict effect for the Manhattan area. For those listeners joining us from the quarantine zone please try to remain calm. Officials are working on getting CDC and rescue personnel onto the island as quickly as possible. The thoughts and prayers of the entire nation are with you…"_

"Dammit!" Vanessa swore viciously, sending a timid Jake skittering back into hiding, "What about the plane!" She reached forward to change the station but froze as the announcer's next words chilled her to the bone.

"_This just in. The Centers for Disease Control has issued a release stating that the chemical agent has breeched the borders of the quarantine zone. States now under quarantine are as follows: Maine, New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, West Virginia, Virginia, Indiana, Michigan, North and South Carolina, Kentucky, Tennessee, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, and Illinois. Evacuation is underway in the following Canadian provinces: New Brunswick, Quebec, Ontario…"_

"My God. It's coming this way," Vanessa gasped. Another searing pain shot through her abdomen and she doubled over. A hand clutched the counter, her knuckles white with fear, as something she hadn't felt in months pooled between her legs.

Blood.

* * *

_A/N Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing and enjoying! B/J scenes are forthcoming in the next chapter :)._

-Lynne


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N Yes, I lied. I'm sorry; the update took longer than I thought it would. 2x13 completely rendered me unable to write anything non episode related. I don't own anything. NOT intended to be disrespectful to those who have survived terrorist attacks or the horrible events of 9/11. THANK YOU to everyone who has been reviewing, they keep me writing :). Please keep them coming!**_

_**Thank you to Katy!  
**_

* * *

Blair was beginning to wonder if this was all just a bad dream. Like that episode of the x-files he-who-shall-remain-nameless had made her watch that she'd actually enjoyed – secretly, of course. She'd even almost wished she could be stuck underground in that cave of hallucinogenic goo herself if it meant waking up next to David Duchovny – _almost_. At this point she'd even settle for Dr. Pain-in-the-Ass hovering over her on an uncomfortable examination table with that arrogant smirk plastered to his disgustingly handsome face when she opened her eyes, if it meant that the last twelve hours of her life were only some sick, twisted dream.

No such luck. The smarmy, pain in the ass, arrogantly handsome doctor was no where to be found. And neither was the uncomfortable and badly fashioned examination table… or _anything_ for that matter. It was completely dark – almost as if she hadn't opened her eyes at all. She screwed her them shut tightly again and opened them as widely as she could.

Complete darkness.

What the hell was going on?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Eric!" Lily screamed frantically into her walkie talkie, "God dammit, Eric! Answer me!" But he hadn't responded since he'd excitedly told her that someone was alive in the hell of Manhattan, almost an hour ago. If he didn't answer her soon she was going to worry a trench in the marble floor.

Why wasn't he answering?

She tightened her grasp on the little two-way radio, willing him to answer her as she scuffled past the full length mirror for the seventh hundred time that hour; red silk robe twisting behind her in a cape. He had to answer her, he had to be alright. He had to find Serena safe and sound and somewhere far the hell away from Harlem. He had to bring her home so she could fawn all over her and make a crying mess of herself as she checked over every inch of her baby girl to make sure she was alright.

Dammit Eric! Answer!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blair felt around with her right hand, careful not to jostle the shoulder she'd dislocated being thrown through Tiffany's display window. She was sitting upright in some sort of cushy, leather chair; a hard plastic wall to her right and empty air in front and to the left of her. Where the hell was she? And where the fuck was Jonathan? If he'd left her alone to fend for herself against radiation and a crumbled New York she'd kill hi – Oh, God.

The building!

Jonathan!

Blair frantically tried to push herself from the chair, but fire tore through her left shoulder and stomped on her skull, stopping her. She gagged against the wave of nausea over taking her and fought desperately to remain conscious. It would do her no good to pass out for the fourth time that day: terrified, injured, and alone in the dark.

And more than likely buried beneath tons of shattered concrete.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Would you hurry up and get this thing fixed?" Nate whined, shoving a cold hand into his pocket.

Grant popped his head up from the other side of the plane where he was inspecting engine number two, "Doesn't look like we're going to get her airborne anytime soon, lad. Engine blew." He nodded towards the cell phone in Nate's hand, "still no reception?"

Nate shook his head; eyes glued to the little screen as he wandered around the plane, holding the device to the sky and searching for reception.

Grant breathed warm air onto his frozen hands, rubbing them together in an attempt to coax feeling back into his finger tips, "Then it looks like we're walking."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Breathing deeply to steady her quivering stomach and ease the pounding in her skull, Blair tentatively lifted a hand to her head. Latex rubbed her temple and realized she was still wearing the latex gloves.

Shit… Her mask! What had Jonathan again? They didn't need the masks _inside_ or _anymore_? Fuck! She couldn't remember! Jesus, she had to get out of here and find Jonathan before the radiation did to her whatever it had done to those people quarantined in the basement.

Good Lord! The basement… all those people. Tears sprung to Blair's eyes for the first time in eight years. Manhattan lay in a broken, disastrous mess. Completely destroyed. Serena was more than likely dead, lying crushed under exploded cement buildings and crumpled metal cars – if she was _lucky._

And her mother! Oh, God. Eleanor. She'd be terrified beyond belief; locked within her wooden fortress, unable to see what's happening around her! If she hadn't already been reduced to a cloud of pink mist or maimed beyond recognition by the radiation, of course.

And… Chuck. God, she hadn't so much as thought his name since she'd literally bumped into him in Europe. …Was he safe and sound in his Tokyo tower?

Blair shook her head, tears streaming freely down her cheeks, and told herself it didn't matter; she didn't care. And she wouldn't live to find out anyway. She wouldn't find Serena or rescue her mother or even escape her own concrete tomb. She'd die, alone and terrified, and nobody would ever find her lifeless body.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Sir?" Arthur's monotone voice was really beginning to piss Chuck off.

"We're brining him with us, Arthur. It's not up for discussion." Chuck snapped, hefting the rusty metal bucket from the old well. He dumped the water on Jeffries, who was propped against the stone well muttering incoherently.

"Understood," Arthur replied, adjusting the knot of his tattered tie at his neck, "although I find it prudent to warn you that –"

"Warn me of what, Old Man?!" Chuck exploded, swinging the metal bucket into the roof of the well angrily, "I've seen EXACTLY what this thing can do. I've watched it with my own FUCKING eyes!"

"That you have, Sir." Arthur stated simply.

"THEN HELP ME!" Chuck roared, ignoring the white hot pain burning his legs and twisting down his spine. The pain had started the instant feeling had returned to Chuck's legs after the crash and been getting progressively and excruciatingly worse.

Arthur regarded him evenly, "You've made your intentions clear where Jeffries is concerned, Mr. Bass. I was merely attempting to inform you –"

"WHAT?!" Chuck snapped, his chest rising and falling with angry breaths, "FUCKING SPIT IT OUT!"

Arthur motioned calmly over Chuck's shoulder, "Someone is approaching."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Would you slow the hell down!?" Dan cried to Eric's back. They'd been tediously picking their way through the crushed concrete, scorched vehicles, and shattered glass; what little there was left of everyday life, for nearly three hours.

Eric's head snapped up and whipped over his shoulder, "We don't have time your dilly dally shit, Dan!"

"So sorry," Dan barked, sarcasm dripping from his words, "But I seem to have shattered an ankle." He flicked a pointed glance down to his feet, "Oh, yep. Look at that – that's definitely bone sticking out the side of my ankle right there."

"If you don't pick up the fucking pace all you'll have left will be your precious bones!" Eric roared, stalking forward through Manhattan's debris, leaving Dan to hobble on his own

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nate glanced around at the nothingness surrounding them and shot Grant an incredulous look, "Where to exactly? There isn't anything for miles."

Grant bent his large frame into the tiny cockpit to retrieve the backpacks that contained their luggage. "Not so my boy," he tossed Nate his bag, slinging his own pack over his shoulder and swept a beefy hand at the horizon, "there is farmland."

Nate's nose crinkled and his brow quirked in confusion, "Yea. That's what I said; a whole lot of nothing."

"Where there is farm_land_ there is a farm_house_" Grant chuckled, his deep laughter beginning to grate on Nate's nerves.

"Yea, well. You better hope they have a farm_phone_ and indoor plumbing" Nate growled, shoving his cell phone in his pocket and trailing after Grant through the heavy snow.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Another tear escaped Blair and trickled down her check and across her chin. She was going to die at twenty eight, bloodied and bruised and miserable. At least then she'd finally be with –

"Blair!" Jonathan's worried voice shattered her tomb's eerie silence, "Jesus. Come on Princess, talk to me!"

Blair closed her eyes against the hope rising in her chest. Please God, let him be real. Let her not be hallucinating what sounded like rock grinding against rock and something heavy denting metal above her. "PRICE!" she screamed, blinding pain shooting through her skull, "JONATHAN!"

And then an odd blue glow joined the pounding pain at her temples in blinding her as fresh air crept tentatively into her dank cave.

"Fuck," Jonathan cursed as the light from his cell phone illuminated her pale face, "You look like hell."

Blair glared at him as best she could, "Well it took you fucking long enough to find me! Maybe if you hadn't taken your sweet ass time I-"

"Wouldn't have nearly bled to death?" Jonathan interjected harshly.

Bled to death? What?

"You're bleeding like a stuck pig," he continued as she tried to inspect herself under the punitive glow of his cell phone.

"Get me the hell out of here then!" Blair screeched and instantly regretted it as someone tap danced across her skull in spiky, metal baseball cleats.

"Hold your horses, sweetheart" he chuckled, shaking his head.

How he could be so frustratingly calm when they'd both nearly been blow to bits was beyond her. "What happened? Why aren't you dead?" Blair questioned as he reached into her cave, prodding her gently for broken bones.

"Nice to see you too," he laughed, pulling her into the cool night air, "It warms my heart to know you were worrying yourself sick over me."

She hissed in a breath when he jostled her injured shoulder, making it throb in tune with her already pounding skull.

"I'm sorry baby," he murmured into her hair, cradling her close to his chest in an effort to avoid jolting her any further. And again she was struck by how very similar his tone of voice and mannerisms were to…Chuck's. She'd already thought his name once and it hadn't killed her, what could once more hurt?

"You were inside," Blair stated, shifting her mind to the present as he carried her over the uneven wreckage of the 'hospital'.

"I was nearly out the back door when she blew," he replied, stepping over what Blair thought was half a ceramic toilette, though it was entirely too dark for her to be sure.

Blair smirked into his shoulder, "Oh?"

"Yes," Jonathan nodded, careful not to knock his chin against the top of her head, "I was on my way out to save a certain _frail, little woman_ from herself."

Blair would have huffed or sunk her teeth into his taught chest if her head wouldn't have exploded with pain. "I don't need you to save me from anything," she spat with as much venom as she could safely muster.

"Well then by all means," he halted abruptly and she swore viciously as she jerked in his arms, "let me just return you to your metal castle, milady. Or better yet, let's take a walk on over to Fifth Avenue and we can warm you up by the fire?"

Blair sulked silently.

"That's along the lines of what I thought," Jonathan quipped arrogantly, resuming their tedious trek through the wreckage.

"Where are we even going?" Blair demanded, pissed off.

"_You_ are headed to the roof of that relatively stable looking truck over there," Blair didn't bother turning her head in the direction he'd nodded; the cleat wearing tap dancers were at it again. And she couldn't see in the dark as well as Dr. Superman could apparently, anyway.

"And just where the hell do you think _you_ are headed?" She questioned haughtily, risking inciting the tap dancers further by pinching the good doctor's side

He merely shook his head and muttered something under his breath. Blair caught the words 'feisty woman' and 'spoiled rotten' and pinched him again, hard. He didn't react.

"I need to salvage what I can from my office," the deep timber of his voice was beginning to lull an already exhausted Blair to sleep, "and then we get the hell out of here."

Blair's eyes flew open, "This hasn't changed anything. I'm not going anywhere but to find Serena and my mother."

Jonathan jerked to a halt, "Your mother? We're starting a list? Why don't we just single handedly canvass all of Manhattan for survivors while we're at it?"

Blair hissed in pain and pinched him yet again, using her nails this time, "Lovely of you to offer, but no; Serena and my mother will do just fine, thank you." She patted his chest in a gesture of mock comfort, "Just think of this as a sign from God that you were supposed to help me in the first place."

He growled angrily as he circumvented a downed light post, "You've dislocated your shoulder, required thirty five stitches to date, most of which will need to be re-stitched as you've torn half them to hell, and will need at least forty _new_ ones just at first glance. Not to mention I'm nearly positive you've earned yourself a second degree concussion from flying through that limo's wind shield," so _that_ was what her dark cave had been, "and or that you've left a quarter of your blood splattered about Manhattan!" He yelled as he set her down gently atop the truck, "I've had to pull you from burning buildings, stitch your numerous wounds closed, and dig you out from cement rubble. Is it really too much to ask if we could just get the hell out of here before we need to add anything remotely related to radiation to the list?!" He finished his with his arms cross angrily against his chest in front of her.

She stared at him silently for a moment as he glared at her, before replying evenly, "Multiply that by a million and _maybe _then you'd understand."

His chest rose and fell, his breathing labored from carrying her across the sea of shattered concrete and fighting tooth and nail for his composure. Her determined, coffee coloured eyes held his fierce gaze for what seemed like forever. "Fine," he finally spat, slapping his palms down on the hood of the truck on either side of her and leaning his face dangerously close to hers, "But just your precious friend and your fucking mother – nobody else."

Blair smiled a sickeningly sweet smile, victorious, but he'd already turned to stalk back towards the flattened hospital, leaving her once more cold, terrified, and alone in the dark.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Shit!" Chuck swore heatedly, flicking a frantic glance at the soft glow of a torch in the distance. "Help me get him up; we need to get the hell out of here!!"

Arthur remained standing where he was, "You don't wish to save this one too?"

"NOW!" Chuck roared, ignoring the blinding pain as he bent to drag Jeffries to his feet.

"He is unable to support his own weight," Arthur observed as Jeffries wobbled and slumped back to the grass. "Perhaps he is best left here."

"FUCKING HELL!" Chuck bellowed, "He comes with us! HURRY!"

Arthur nodded and moved to help Chuck lift Jeffries to his feet once more. Chuck winced, fire lapping at his spine as his knees gave out. Exhaustion and pain robbed him of his strength and coordination, and he wilted like a delicate flower in the wind. His head connected with solid ground; stars exploding behind eyelids he didn't remember closing.

Arthur stared down at him, the back of his pink dress shirt white under the moonlight and stained with sweat, "Your spinal and leg injuries appear to be more serious in nature than I had originally hypothesized." He peered over his shoulder at the glow of the approaching light and then quickly back down at his disabled employer, "Can you feel your legs, Mr. Bass?"

Arthur's voice came to him from somewhere farm off in the distance; barely discernable over the ringing in his ears. Waves of nausea threatened to drown him as he attempted to push himself into a sitting position. But his body wouldn't do as he was commanding it to; his legs would not obey him. Chuck dragged in a ragged breath and whispered his answer face down in the dirt, "No."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"How do you even know we are going in the right direction?" Nate grumbled as he tugged his leg free from a bottomless snowdrift.

Grant smirked over his shoulder, green eyes twinkling, "would you believe keen sense of direction?"

Nate laughed despite himself. "More like green sense of direction," he quipped, referring to the years the bearded man had spent in the Australian military.

"You'd be quite right, my boy" Grant boomed, laughter in his tone as he dredged through the knee high snow. "This stuff's beginning to pile up pretty quickly," he tugged his collar tight around his thick neck, seriousness creeping into his words "we need to pick up the pace. Sun went down an hour ago and its heat isn't going to stick around for too much longer."

Nate nodded, and forced his soaked, half frozen legs through the snow in an effort to keep up with the older man.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"ERIC!" Lily cried into the plastic device gripped in her hand. God, why wasn't he answering? What if he was hurt? What if he was lying in the middle of the street bleeding to death? She pressed her ear firmly to the speaker, hoping to hear any sign of life on the other end of the line, but all she was met with was static.

"Oh, _fuck_ this!" Lily screamed, hurling the walkie against the foyer wall. It bounced violently off the wall, landing in four unusable pieces on the marble floor. But Lily had already begun to scramble across the dark penthouse; pointed table corners clawing her shins as she blindly made her way. Her instep came down hard on something sharp somewhere in the living room but she didn't stop to inspect the damage. She hobbled into her bedroom, threw on the old sweatshirt of Bart's she still slept in and jammed her legs into the jeans she'd been too tired to put in the laundry hamper down the hall. Blood trickled from the sole of her foot onto the plush white carpeting as she crammed her feet into the first pair of shoes she could find. She raced back through the unnaturally dark penthouse, shoving her cell phone into her pants before she was racing down thirteen flights of stairs into the desolate remains of Manhattan.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jonathan reappeared through the still unsettled cloud of dust before Blair, "Alright let's get a move on, Joan."

She studied him, baffled; "I thought I was the one with the concussion, _Johnny_."

He quirked an eyebrow at her use of the nickname, "Of Arc. I figured if you you're going to be claiming He leveled my building as a means of communicating His all mighty plan to you, you'd need a saintly name to reflect your new conduit status. Joan of Arc, patron Saint of crazy, seemed appropriate."

She rolled her eyes before she could stop herself and lifted her right hand to the pounding it produced behind her eyes, "Was leaving me here alone and injured to play hero at least worth it? Salvage anything stronger than aspirin by chance?"

He nodded, tilting her chin to better angle it under the glow of his cell phone, "But only enough to keep the stampeding elephants at bay for a few hours. You'll want it more tomorrow, trust me."

"Not any further than I could throw you," she mumbled under her breath.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dan's metal crutch slipped against concrete slick with blood from his injured ankle and he jolted violently. "FUCKING HELL!" he yelled, pain radiating from his ankle to his hip.

"I don't have time for this!" Eric roared, stalking back to stand before Dan, arms crossed angrily against his chest, as Dan crumbled to the debris in pain.

"So sorry to be an inconvenience," Dan snarled up at Eric through gritted teeth, "Next time I'll try to shatter a joint that's more convenient for you!"

Eric's chest heaved, his breath coming in angry pants. "I should have just left you in Harlem," He growled, voice dangerously low.

"Jesus, FUCK!" Dan screamed, throwing his arms wide in frustration, "YES! You should have! You should have just left me behind to find the sister you can't be bothered to! The sister who dropped _everything_ to save her little brother from himself, if I remember correctly! If she dies, her blood is on _your_ hands!!"

Eric glared down at his sister's blood soaked boyfriend, "The FUCK it is! This is all _your_ God damn fault! You no good piece of shit! It's your fault Serena is even in this mess! If you weren't such a shitty ass fucking boyfriend she wouldn't have even been anywhere NEAR Harlem to begin with!" Eric swooped to the ground and grabbed a small concrete shard, "What the fuck is wrong with you? Why couldn't you just SUPPORT her? Why did everything have to be about her FUCKING NAME? Why were you always trying to make her feel like SHIT!?" He vaulted to his feet and began pacing, crushing the concrete painfully in his hand as he did, "Did it make you feel like a big man, Dan? Making my sister feel guilty for your own fucking short comings? Do you even see her anymore, really FUCKING _see_ her? She's a shell of the beautiful, vibrant girl she was before she met _you_! Before all this BULLSHIT!" He whirled to face Dan again, rage etched into his handsome features, "It's all your fucking fault!" He threw the concrete dust in his hand at Dan's face, "I should have just left you to ROT!!"

Dan stared up at Eric, mouth gaping. "Don't you even DARE try to lay this at my feet Van der Woodsen! I wasn't the one behind the scenes pulling the strings! I'm not the one pouring vodka down her throat or shoving coke up her nose!"

Eric stiffened, a wild look in his eyes, "What is that supposed to mean?"

Dan averted his gaze, realizing what he'd just let slip in his rage, "Nothing, forget it."

Eric launched himself at Dan, grabbing his shirt by the collar and shaking him violently, "What the FUCK are you talking about!?!"

Dan's slowly brought hatred filled eyes to meet Eric's untamed gaze, "Ask your fucking precious Chuck Bass."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Awareness came in murky spurts. His throat was dry, his tongue heavy with imaginary sawdust.

His body jostled oddly from side to side, and he realized he was lying down, his head propped on something cushy, but rough. And his head hurt, _really_ hurt_._ It reminded him entirely too much of how he'd felt the morning after she'd told him to chose, after the pills, and the booze, and …who knew what else.

Was that an engine? His eyelids crept open slowly, the dull ache at the base of his skull intensifying as they did.

"Are you among the conscious again, Sir?" Arthur's voice drifted from somewhere to Chuck's right, foggier then he remembered hearing it the last twenty four hours.

Chuck blinked and his blurry vision cleared. It _had_ been an engine; he was lying down in the back seat of station wagon.

Realization crashed into him forcefully.

"Jeffries?" He demanded, propping himself up on unsteady elbows to glimpse Arthur's profile.

It was an odd angle. Chuck could see the outline of Arthur's ear and into the darkness over the man's shoulder but wasn't able to lift himself high enough to see out his own window or search the front passenger seat for the infected co-pilot.

"Accounted for," Arthur answered, his gnarled hands crossing over each other on the steering wheel as he took a right turn. The wagon bounced precariously to the right and then left and it dawned on Chuck the man he'd known for nearly ten years, and had been his personal assistant for nearly four, had never driven a vehicle before in his life.

"Arthur," Chuck began but his dry tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, robbing him of his words.

Arthur glanced over his shoulder quickly and the car veered sharply to the left. "The time is eight p.m.; we are currently passing through Indianapolis, and, remarkably enough, the vehicle came equipped with bottled water and several errand protein bars." Arthur turned to focus his attention on the road, and the car gradually realigned, "One of each should be located on the floor in front of you, Sir."

Chuck lowered himself back down on the seat and searched the floor blindly. His fingers came into contact with a plastic wrapper and he brought the protein bar to his chest to fumble for the bottle of water. He found it quickly, twisted off the cap and lifted his head to bring his lips to the rim. He drank swiftly, gulping nearly half the bottle's contents before his tongue would work and words came out.

"The case?" Chuck demanded, lying once more on his back, staring at the ceiling as the fog in his brain began to clear.

"Safely accounted for," came Arthur's reply from the driver's seat.

"Jeffries?" Chuck repeated, suspicious of the lack of 'safely' associated with the scrawny man's condition.

"Jeffries is safety quarantined in the trunk." Arthur returned evenly.

Chuck sighed, relieved that Arthur hadn't left the man on the side of the road somewhere. "How did you manage the wagon?" Chuck questioned, curious .

"Unimportant details," Arthur dismissed unemotionally, "and though it may be unpleasant for you to discuss, I feel it pertinent to the situation at hand to inquire; have you regained the feeling in your lower extremities?"

His legs! Jesus, how the fuck could he have forgotten about his legs!

He slowly lifted his head to stair down at the limbs in question. Well, he could see them. His heartbeat pounding a heavy tattoo in his chest; he carefully ran a palm from his ribcage over his hip to midway down his thigh. He could still feel them against his hand. But had he felt his hand against his leg? Chuck took a wobbly, deep breath and closed his eyes. He poked just above his right hip. OK. So far so good; he could feel that. He took another, slightly more steady breath and poked a few inches below his hip. Ok, ok, this was good; he could feel that too. Chuck held a breath as he moved his hand down to poke his thigh. Had he felt that? Had he even poked himself? He repeated the movement. Nothing. He opened his eyes and lifted his head, wiggling his toes. The expensive leather of his shoes didn't even twitch – nothing. Chuck's heart plummeted to the toes he couldn't feel.

"No."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They'd been walking in comfortable silence for the past twenty minutes, but as they neared thirty; Grant sensed Nate's mood shifting behind him. He peeked over his shoulder at the man who was like family to him; his hair was white with snow, his cheeks red from exertion and the biting winter air; his eyes drowning in worry.

It nearly broke Grant's heart to see him like this; utterly lost in misery and alone despite Grant's presence. Still carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders; still trying to make up for sins that weren't his.

And probably completely preoccupied with his soon-to-be wife and child. Grant had completely forgotten about the phone call Nate had finally answered just before the old girl's engine blew. It bothered him somewhat that Nate hadn't brought it up again; normally they would talk about Vanessa and Janine and their respective antics or adorable foibles until there were blue in the face or nauseous from all the 'woman' talk.

"She's got a good head on her shoulders," Grant's ventured, diverting his attention back to picking a path of least resistance through the mounting snow. At this rate they would be hip deep in the frozen flakes in less than a few hours.

Nate startled from his dreary thoughts at Grant's words. "Hmm? Oh. Vanessa. Yea. She does," he nodded, burying his neck deeper into the collar of his jacket.

"We should hopefully be by a phone in a few hours," Grants breath puffed out in hot clouds and frosted his auburn beard.

"Yea," Nate nodded distractedly.

"You can give her a call then," Grant continued.

"Yea," Nate repeated absently, bending down to remove cold snow from inside his boot.

"Let her know we're both just fine and dandy," Grant hinted pointedly, "poor girl is probably worrying herself sick about you."

"Huh?" came Nate flabbergasted response.

Grant rolled his eyes heavenward; sometimes the boy was just too lost in his own way of thinking.

Nate jogged as best he could through the sea of snow to Grant's side.

"Betsy's number two blew and you lost the call." Grant explained turning patient eyes to meet Nate's confused expression, "musta sounded like an explosion to the poor girl. She's probably worried herself into a mighty fine tizzy by now."

"Oh, God," Nate jolted to a stop, stunned, "What the fuck is wrong with me?!" He swiped a hand down his face, "Jesus. She's going to think…especially after what she was trying to tell me…"

Grant spine stiffened, an uneasy feeling creeping up on him. He turned and stalked back to face Nate, "what was she trying to tell you?"

Nate began to wade through the rising snow, pacing as best he could. "She was nervous when I answered – off, kept actually calling me Nate; I haven't heard her call me Nate in over ten years. I just thought she was upset about this morning. God, I should have known, should have listened to her. FUCK, I'm an idiot."

Grant reached out to halt Nate's fidgety movements as he paced back toward him, "Slow down. What was she trying to tell you? What didn't you listen to?"

"She was talking about New York being hit by something. I just thought she meant some kind of storm. I didn't listen, all I could hear was her disappointment in me, I didn't listen." Nate babbled, his voice thick with emotion.

"Nathaniel," Grant said sternly and Nate's forlorn eyes snapped to his, "What was she trying to tell you?"

Nate gulped. "She said she couldn't get a hold of friends of ours in Manhattan. I think… Jesus, I think she was trying to tell me there had been some sort of attack." He closed his eyes against the images flooding him, "Fuck I thought she was just upset and worried about the baby… Oh, God." His blue eyes flew open again, wide with fear, "She's got to be panicking – thinking I've been blown to smithereens. Stress isn't good for the baby! What if she loses our baby!?"

Grant blinked, surprised. All day Nate had been referring to the baby as just that, **the** baby. He'd never once acknowledged the fact that it was a part of them, of _both_ of them; was _theirs_. And now it all possibly hung in the balance.

Grant felt the beginnings of his own fear rising in his throat. Please God, don't let Vanessa lose their child. Don't do that to them. Not now. Not when Nate had finally connected, finally started to think of this baby as a part of him despite all his fears.

"We will get to a phone. You'll call her and figure out this entire mess." Grant gripped Nate's upper arm reassuringly, "They will be fine."

Nate nodded faintly, averting his watery gaze over Gant's shoulder. "I can't lose them, Grant," his voice cracked as a single tear rolled down his cheek, glistening under the moonlight.

Unable to form the words, Grant merely nodded and brought his hand to Nate's shoulder, giving it one comforting squeeze before gently tugging him through white snow and black night.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"That's it?" Blair questioned, her shoulders slumping dejectedly as Jonathan lay the contents of his pockets on the hood beside her.

He pushed his cell phone into her palm and indicated she should hold it up to illuminate her face. "And here I was hoping to get more of a lecture for leaving you all by your lonesome," he smirked as he carefully dabbed at a gash she'd reopened flying through the limo wind shield.

Blair shrugged her uninjured right shoulder with care, the glow from his cell phone bouncing across her face, "If you're dead set on rushing to your death the second you finish saving my life and patching me up, then I can't stop you, Johnny."

He flinched at his own words thrown back in his face and she grinned. He selected one of the few suture kits he'd been able to retrieve, setting it in her lap to switch his tattered latex gloves for a fresh pair.

"Jesus, your hands!" Blair gasped, his phone falling from her hand as she reached out to grab his torn and bloody flesh. "They're even worse than before!" She cried, turning his hand over in hers to examine his palm.

"Most of the blood isn't even mine," he told her, glancing at her hand pointedly.

She made a face at him, "Well whose fault is that?"

"Ever the appreciative damsel," he tugged his hand from hers and bent to scoop up his cell phone. She admired the way his once white lab coat stretched across the tight muscles of his shoulders until realization slapped her in the face, "Your gloves!"

He froze, and a millimeter away from snaking between two cement hunks to retrieve the phone she'd dropped. He grinned up at her, the whites of his eyes eerie against the pitch black night, "So the Ice Princess does have a heart after all." Blair's spine stiffened and her jaw clenched painfully, fresh waves of nausea washing over her, at the familiar nick name. "Don't worry; the infection can only be passed from the original contaminant or through bodily fluids." Jonathan chuckled as he plucked his cell phone from between the two boulders and stood to face her once more. "What?" he asked when he noticed her brow furrowed in suspicious confusion.

"I thought you said it was radiation," Blair retorted, studying his face as best she could in the dim night. The city really was an eerily dark place without the light from buildings and billboards or passing traffic to illuminate it. It was beginning to creep Blair out. She reached out her still gloved right hand to snatch his cell phone from him and flip it open, the weak blue light sharpening his features.

"I did," he nodded, plucking the suture kit from her lap to tear it open and repositioning her hand so the light shone on her chin, "This is most likely going to hurt like a bitch. I couldn't get to the anesthetic."

Blair pulled away from his touch and glared at him, "So?"

Jonathan heaved a heavy sigh, lowering his hand to his side. "You aren't going to like this," he warned gravely, "You'll wish you just sat up there prissily and kept your mouth shut."

Blair scoffed, swinging her dangling legs and coming dangerously close to kicking him in the stomach. He raised his eyebrows and flicked a pointed look at her ruined Jimmy Choo's. She smiled sweetly, batting her eyes exaggeratedly, and rolled her wrist in a 'continue' motion.

He shook his head; a stray lock of dust caked hair falling against his forehead, and rolled his eyes heaven ward, "Ok, Joan. If you insist, but don't tell me I didn't warn you." He nudged her hand back up to light her chin and began suturing as he talked, "Shortly after the armored vehicle over turned in Harlem, we were informed we had a possible chemical contagion on our hands. At first they though it could have been a nerve agent like Cyclosarin or something equally destructive, but after one of the newbies over at Columbia Presbyterian nicked himself cleaning up after a transfemoral amputation, we knew we were dealing with a whole 'nother ball game; newbie was feverish and draining half a litter of blood through his nose in under an hour and a half. They figured out pretty quickly it was viral. It's a scary bitch; like nothing I've ever seen before – and I was with Doctor's Without Boarders in Africa for two years." Blair hissed as he swabbed the neat little line of x's with antiseptic before slapping a band aid over them, "There. Shouldn't even scar. Thank me with obedience."

She ignored his quip, fingering the band aid as he prepared another needle for the gash on her left shoulder. "What's the incubation period?" she demanded a slight tremble to her voice.

Jonathan eyed her, surprised.

"I know a little something about infectious deceases and viruses," she elaborated vaguely.

He studied her face with eyes that could see more through the darkness than some could in broad daylight, "I'm sorry."

She lowered her gaze quickly, tears blurring her vision.

"I don't know what kind of time frame we are dealing with." He continued when she merely nodded her acknowledgement, eyes still on her shoes, "Newbie nicked himself at noon, was a bloody mess by two and isolated on another floor by four thirty when I left to grab more supplies from my home office. Ran into you just in time to see you blown clear through glass at five and that brings us to now at," he slipped the cell phone from her loses fingers, "eight."

Blair cleared her throat and Jonathan politely shifted his attention to his own shoes while she whipped fat droplets from her cheeks. Her voice now steady she asked, "No way we can find out?"

Jonathan's eyes locked with hers and he shook his head. "Hospital was more than likely destroyed by the blasts you were flat on your back for," he wiggled his cell phone at eye level, "and only use this has now is as a flashlight. Short of infecting one of us and charting the virus's progress – we're flying blind."

"More like sitting ducks," Blair huffed, the late November air beginning to make her teeth chatter.

"Adrenaline is wearing off," Jonathan told her as pressed the 'flashlight' back into her palm, "I know it's cold Princess," he ripped a tear in her blouse open wider above her left shoulder to suture the gash underneath, "but I need to get you all closed up before you really start to feel it."

She watched as his nimble hands patch the jagged tear in her skin. For an arrogant and brash asshole, he was surprisingly gentle. "Butterfly needles?" She asked, shinning the light on the medical supplies beside her right hip.

"Light," he demanded and she lifted the cell back up to hover above her left shoulder, "Yes. Butterflies."

She ignored the reaction hearing _that_ word in a tone of voice so similar to _his_ – she was back to ignoring his existence and blocking his name from her mind – had on her stomach. "What's your specialty?" She asked the top of his dusty head.

"Pediatric surgery," he replied absently, focused intently on closing her wound.

Blair's hand unconsciously fluttered to the necklace at her neck but her fingers only hit blouse and skin; no metal chain. No! Her necklace! The only thing left she had of left of Charlie! Her breath caught in her throat and she screwed her eyes shut against the fresh wave of pain crashing over her that had nothing to do with separated shoulders, or gashes, or concussions.

"Ok," Jonathan pulled off his bloody gloves and replaced them with yet another fresh pair, "All sealed back up and water tight. Let's get the hell out of here."

Blair nodded, forcing the painful memories from her mind as he stepped forward to help her of the roof of the truck.

"Think you can walk, Saint Joan?" Jonathan asked as he hefted her into his arms, bouncing his eyebrows suggestively as he continued, "or would you like to mount your noble steed?"

"You really are heinous," she grimaced, "and since the only thing you have in common with a noble steed is the barn you were both born in; put me down, Johnny."

"As you wish Joanie," he quipped as he complied, setting her carefully on her feet, "just watch where you step, would you? I'm tired of watching you do a Flying Wallenda through the nearest available window only to have to pull you from certain death and slap you back together again."

She pulled a face and stuck out her tongue like the petulant five year old she was, "Let's just get the hell out of here, ok?"

He threw his hands up in the air, frustrated, and trailed after her hobbling form.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Benson's pressed his satellite phone to his ear, listening to the voicemail that had come as he'd been setting the charge to blow that building – and the bitch along with it – sky high.

"_Benson."_

Benson's blood began to boil: Alexei.

"_Our friend Carter tells me the virus has made its way across the bridge. Your orders were for Manhattan, and ONLY Manhattan. You leave me with no choice but to deal with your incompetence in person…. Oh, and Benson..."_

Benson snickered at the bastard's love for dramatic pauses. He'd have slit his throat himself years ago if he wasn't such a key part of disposing of Bitch and the Bass.

"_You better not be anywhere __**near **__the girl when I get there – she's __**mine**__."_

Benson flipped the phone shut, rage boiling his blood, as he lurked in the shadows watching the good doctor follow the dainty whore down the streets of Manhattan like a love sick puppy.

* * *

A/N Butterfly needles are what they use on children :). I'm running short on time before work but I wanted to post this, hopefully there aren't too many spelling mistakes and I didn't screw anything ip:). lol

Lynne


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N Same as previous chapters. NOT intended to be offensive in any way, shape, or form to survivors of 9/11. THANK YOU for all the lovely reviews, please keep 'em coming, they keep me writing! :) xoxo. **_

_**THANK YOU TO KATY!**_

**Recap:**

_Dan stared up at Eric, mouth gaping. "Don't you even DARE try to lay this at my feet Van der Woodsen! I wasn't the one behind the scenes pulling the strings! I'm not the one pouring vodka down her throat or shoving coke up her nose!"_

_Eric stiffened, a wild look in his eyes, "What is that supposed to mean?"_

_Dan averted his gaze, realizing what he'd just let slip in his rage, "Nothing, forget it."_

_Eric launched himself at Dan, grabbing his shirt by the collar and shaking him violently, "What the FUCK are you talking about!?!"_

_Dan's slowly brought hatred filled eyes to meet Eric's untamed gaze, "Ask your fucking precious Chuck Bass." _

~*~

"_What are you doing here, S?" Blair questioned as she came around the corner and spied Serena teetering on the edge of her desk. "Are you drunk?" Blair sniffed Serena's breath as she came forward. _

"_Maybe a little" Serena nodded, tumbling from her perch and landing with a thud on the tiled floor. "Or maybe a lot," she managed through a fit of giggles. _

_Blair rolled her eyes, "I don't have time for this right now." She helped a wobbly Serena into a chair and motioned for seamstress Crystal to bring her a glass of water, "I have a buyers meeting in under and hour."_

"_Actually," Jenny put in as Crystal handed Blair a mug, "Harry just called to reschedule; his wife's gone went into labor."_

"_Well isn't that lovely." Blair huffed out a breath, "like the world really needs another Harry running around, looking up women's skirts." _

~*~

Eric hauled Dan to his feet in one swift, enraged movement. "What the hell does my brother have to do with any of this?" he growled, his knuckles white from his tight grip on Dan's shirt collar.

"Your _brother_," Dan spat, shaking his head in disgust, "your _brother_ – he's not your fucking brother. He's an arrogant, manipulative, self righteous, vile excuse of a human being!" Dan's eyes narrowed to slits, "And the reason Serena is a coke addicted runway tramp."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"You really should wear more appropriate footwear." Jonathan chided as the broken heel of Blair's Jimmy Choo's caused her to stumble over her own feet for the third time in less than ten minutes. "Don't get me wrong," he drawled, eyeing the way her hips swayed in front of him appreciatively, "the man in me would like to shake the hand of whoever invented the high heel - they do wonders for the female ass, and calves, and… the whole lower half, really." He bounced his eyebrows suggestively even though she hadn't turned around to acknowledge his words. "But the doctor in me knows what your spine is going to look like in ten years. And it's not pretty."

"I need them in the line of work I'm in." Blair snapped, refusing to concede that he had a valid point.

They'd left the ruins of Jonathan's makeshift hospital behind in the Upper West Side nearly thirty minutes ago and her head was beginning to feel like it was splitting in half. Her chin was on fire, her shoulder protested vehemently with every breath she took, and she was nearly numb from the mid November cold. And the bastard hadn't even so much as offered his hand or jacket since she'd outright refused to 'ride' him the rest of their trip.

Jonathan watched as she stumbled yet again. "Oh? And exactly what is it that you do that could possibly require you to wear torture devices as a part of the uniform? Or do I even want to know?"

"_None_ of your business," Blair spat, frantically trying to steady herself without jarring her pounding head any further. She let out a string of swears when she had to throw both her arms out to keep her balance and the shoulder she'd dislocated not four hours ago shrieked in pain. "Is the reason you deal with children because they can't report you for malpractice or abuse?" she sneered.

"You didn't want my lowly help." Jonathan shrugged, "I considered it your very own variation of the DNR – sort of like a DNH."

"That's absurd," Blair yelped as her foot got snagged in the gnarled metal of a stop sign post, "and extremely unethical. No wonder they shipped you off to Africa for two years."

Jonathan laughed, "If you wanted my help all you had to do was ask, Joanie."

Blair halted her efforts to free foot, her spine stiffening in frustration. "Would you stop calling me that?" she spat, breathing fire.

Jonathan bent to free her foot from its metal prison before he hooked an arm behind her knees and her back and swooped her up into his arms; "As you wish, milady."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Grant was beginning to worry Nate might be slipping into shock. They'd been dredging their way painstakingly through the snow for nearly two hours; Nate's arm slung around Grant's shoulder and resting on his backpack, Grant's large hand gripping him at the waist, and he hadn't said another word – barely even blinked. His breathing was shallow and came in quick pants, his eyes unfocused and unseeing.

Grant shifted his hand on Nate's waist when he stumbled over his own feet, nearly falling on his face, "Come on lad, we're almost there."

Nate nodded clumsily, his feet slowly continuing forward barely under their own steam.

"I can see the house in the distance Nate," Grant encouraged, calling him by the name he rarely ever used, "hang in there."

Nate didn't even nod.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"What did you say?" Eric demanded, jaw clenched, eyes shooting fire as his fingers tightened around Dan's collar.

"You heard me." Dan spat, squaring his shoulders to return Eric's menacing glare.

"Yea, I _heard_ you," Eric growled, "But you might want to reconsider just _exactly_ what it is that you're implying."

"Why?" Dan huffed. "Because pretending she's the angel you all delude yourself into believing she is will somehow will it into existence?!" He shoved his palms into Eric's chest forcefully, "Because sweeping it under the rug will somehow save her from herself? Erase the mornings and the nights I've had to wipe puke from her hair? Drag her comatose ass to the ER?"

Eric reeled backward physically from Dan's words, eyes wide and jaw slack from shock, the crimson stained collar slipping through his now limp fingers.

"Don't look so surprised," Dan scoffed, sickened. "You've seen it. You've _all_ seen it."

Eric shook his head feebly, "No."

"YES!" Dan roared, "Yes! You've all sat back and just let it happen! Let her waste her potential, her health, her _life._" He shoved his palms into Eric's chest again, putting all his weight behind it, "She could have done something worthwhile with her life! Could have _been_ something! Instead she traipses around half naked and fully stoned," murder crept into his eyes, "and the lot of you, sitting in your golden castles with your golden names, just sit back and _let_ her."

Eric jabbed a finger into Dan's chest and he swayed dangerously, "You don't know what the hell you're talking about, Humphrey."

"Humphrey," Dan snorted angrily. "Of course. It all boils down to that, now doesn't it? Serena fucking van der Woodsen couldn't _possibly_ be a coke head. Chuck fucking Bass couldn't _possibly_ be to blame!"

Confusion creased Eric's forehead, "What the _hell_ are you going on about?"

"Chuck's been feeding Serena blow for years," Dan spat, hatred oozing from every syllable.

Eric threw his head back and laughed. "All the way from Tokyo?" he asked when his laughter had subsided, shaking his head doubtfully. "I think I would have noticed if he'd suddenly added drug dealing to the companies' list of interests."

"Like you noticed your own sister's debilitating drug problem?" Dan countered.

Eric's expression turned to stone, "That conveniently only you appear to have been aware of? Maybe _you_ were the one pulling the strings on that one, Humph." Eric smiled humorlessly, "Never did quite understand why she stayed with you all these years – it would explain a lot."

Dan threw his shoulder into Eric's midsection, catching him off guard. "You self-righteous son of a bitch!" he screamed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blair muffled a relieved sigh against the good doctor's upper torso as best she could; it would do no good to acknowledge Dr. Pain-in-the-Ass had been right from the beginning to insist she be carried. But she couldn't help snuggling into the crook of his neck to steal his heat or studying him from beneath drooping lashes.

He really was an annoyingly handsome son of a bitch. Strong cheek bones and a brow that, on anybody else would have been too pronounced, accentuated piercing pale emeralds. His square jaw was all sharp angles, and odd little scars she'd never noticed before sprinkled the underside of his chin. She half heartedly wondered where he'd gotten them as she lifted a hand to trace the raised flesh absently.

"What else are you hiding?" Blair voiced the question without being aware of it, the adrenaline subsiding and the effects of her concussion beginning to make themselves known.

Jonathan gazed down at her questioningly, "Are you feeling at all dizzy?"

Blair nodded goofily, "Kinda – too nauseous to tell."

He really did have the most beautiful lips she'd ever seen on a man. His lips bottom lip was slightly fuller than his top and it made Blair want to bite his top lip so that it swelled to match its pair.

"Any fever?" Jonathan asked, suddenly acutely concerned. "Or just the normal concussion dizziness and nausea?"

Blair scrunched her nose pensively. She was beginning to feel very sleepy. She vaguely remembered reading somewhere that concussions did that to you. But it also could have been the steady, slow in and out of his breathing, or the soft rocking motion at every step he took.

"I dunno," she mumbled through a yawn, "do I feel hot?"

"Not in the way you mean," he replied, too concerned over whether or not she'd been infected to infuse his words with the usual innuendo.

Blair pushed a stray strand of hair off her face clumsily. "You enjoy molesting me entirely too much, Dr. Johnny," she told the scarred underside of his chin, eyes closed.

But before he could answer, her eyes had flown open, her hand to her mouth, and she was struggling to be put down. He complied quickly, steadying her with a concerned hand to the small of her back.

She shot him a panicked look before bending in half and loudly retching on his shoes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eric fought in vain for purchase on the uneven, slippery carpet of mangled wreckage and he went down, hard; his forgotten backpack stabbing him in the back. A large, rusty screw poking out from the remnants of a hot dog stand punctured thigh as Dan's weight crashed down on top of him.

"FUCK!" Eric swore viciously, grabbing frantically at his thigh, "My leg! Get off me! Fuck!"

Dan rolled off him, startled and the exposed bone in his right ankle scraped the twisted metal of a crumpled mailbox. "FUCKING SHIT!" he screamed, his vision blurring before it faded to black completely.

Eric screwed his eyes shut against the heat ripping through his flesh. If he hadn't been exposed to the virus when he'd foolishly tried to protect Dan from further injury, he sure as hell had been now; he could feel the screw's metal tip straining against the front of his pant leg – it had gone clean through his thigh. If they didn't get to the warehouse, and get there soon, they'd both be lying in a puddle of melted flesh and bodily fluids.

Eric chocked back a desperate moan. This was just all too fucked up to believe. The blasts, the virus… everything. It seemed so hard to believe only twelve hours ago he was having breakfast with Lily.

Lily! Shit! He'd completely forgotten about his promise to keep her constantly updated. Where the hell was his walkie? He tried to free his leg from the screw to search for the little radio, but the excruciating pain that burst through his thigh at the slightest of movements talked his muscles out of cooperating. Fuck. He'd need Dan's help. Eric sighed, his breath hitching as another sharp pain bit his leg. Maybe it was time to just ignore years of strained history and work together; tearing each other's heads off wasn't getting them anywhere but injured and possibly infected.

"Dan?" Eric called, turning his head in the direction the older man had rolled. "DAN!" he yelled loudly when he remained limp and unresponsive.

Dan's right eye twitched but he didn't regain consciousness.

"DANIEL HUMPHREY!" Eric bellowed, pain galloping the length of his body.

Dan roused slowly, his eyes fluttering open. Why did his mattress suddenly feel like it was meant for a bed of nails? And why the hell was his girlfriend's brother lying next to him?

"What?" Dan snapped, still slightly foggy.

"Help me," Eric replied as evenly as possible.

Dan raked his eyes the length of Eric's body as he pushed himself into a sitting position and the fog cleared completely, "That's rich.

"Oh, come off your fucking high horse, Dan." Eric grunted, rolling his eyes, "You need me. You aren't going to get much farther on that ankle all by yourself."

Dan glared at him, unconvinced.

"We need each other," Eric conceded. "Let's just drop the shit for now and work together. Biting each other's heads off is only slowing us down. We need every possible minute if we're going to make it to the warehouse _and_ find Serena and Blair." Eric cringed inwardly as he spoke the words. He'd been leading Dan on with his promise to find the girls once they'd secured their own salvation. They more than likely wouldn't find his sister, or the girl who was like family to her, alive and well. And if the warehouse had been destroyed they wouldn't be heading back to Harlem at all…

"I'm not moving one muscle to help you until you tell me everything you know," Dan's harsh voice cut into Eric's reverie, and he raised his gaze to meet Dan's narrow, suspicious eyes. "The attacks, the virus, what Blair has to do with either of them – all of it."

"I can't do that." Eric told him unyieldingly. "It's better that you not know."

"For who? You? _Bass_?" Dan spat Chuck's name from his lips like one would dirt laced with feces.

"Everyone." Eric replied cryptically.

"Fine." Dan countered, a sneer twisting his lips. "Then enjoy your new lot in life as a shish kabob." He slithered across the rough debris to his grab the metal support beam he'd been using as a crutch and hobbled slowly to his feet.

"I can't tell you everything," Eric called after him, desperation edging into his voice, "but I can tell you some things."

Dan stopped and glanced back at Eric over his shoulder, "What 'things' exactly?"

Eric sighed, mentally sifting through years of history. "After everything that happened your senior year at St. Jude's, Chuck took off for a while." Dan nodded, remembering. "He never told me where he went or what he did, but he came back… changed. At first, I tried to get him to talk about it," still flat on his back, he against the sudden threat of tears, "even took him to Bart and Charlie's graves. I thought that since he missed both funerals it would bring him some sort of closure." He shook his head sadly, "It didn't. It only seemed to make him worse. He kept talking about how it was his fault, if he hadn't done what he'd done to Blair then none of it would have happened, and Bart wouldn't have been in the limo when that drunk driver hit him."

"I know all this," Dan snapped, interrupting him, "I lived through it, too."

"You might have been there," Eric returned, lost in the sadness of his memories, "but you didn't live it – not like Chuck did. He became obsessed with finding Charlie's cure – that's what he called it, Charlie's cure." He winced as the throbbing in his thigh began to worsen. "Axed every single project his father had going in medical research and reassigned all the funds, equipment and personnel to finding Charlie's cure."

Dan wobbled around to face Eric, giving him a look that said 'get to the point.'

Eric glared up at him, but continued quickly, "When Bart died and Chuck went A.W.O.L. his second in command, Alexei, was poised to take over the reigns, but Chuck showed up just before the board voted to allow Alexei control, and instead Chuck demoted him to head of Medical Research." Eric took a deep breath and continued, "Alexei was more than a little angry to suddenly be in charge of a department concerned with finding a 'pointless' cure when he thought he should be running the company," Eric sighed heavily. "But Chuck couldn't see that. He was consumed by his own guilt and grief. Alexei took advantage, tricking Chuck into hiring some crank scientist whose niece had supposedly died from the same disease as Charlie, and started secretly developing weaponized viruses behind Chuck's back. Chuck found out, there was a stand off, and Alexei and his scientist escaped with the virus." Eric swallowed with difficulty, his mouth dry from his tale, "Long story short, two years later Chuck tracked them down and burnt down the building Alexei was holed up in. But not before the bastard escaped with a small portion of the virus." Eric's gaze turned deadly serious, "We've been holding our breaths, trying to engineer a cure for the virus and simultaneously track down Alexei for the past three years."

Dan's blinked, his gaze somber, as Eric peered up at him, waiting. "So where is Chuck now? And what the hell does Blair have to do with all of this?" he demanded, hands on his hips.

Eric shrugged, a water bottle in his backpack digging into his rib cage painfully, "I don't know exactly, somewhere near Illinois, I think - I haven't talked to him since this morning." Dan arched a suspicious eyebrow and Eric continued, "He was on his way to meet me at the warehouse in Manhattan; there might have been a break through with the cure."

"Might have?" Dan questioned, leaning heavily on his crutch.

Eric nodded, "We'd tried everything we could think of; nothing was panning out, until somebody had the idea of testing natural immunity. We tested everyone in the company, bought as much blood as we could on the black market and ran that too, nothing." Eric dragged in a ragged breath as a bolt of fire exploded in this thigh, "Will you get this thing out of me now, please!"

Dan considered the request, but remained where he was looking down at him, "What about Blair? How does she factor in?"

"What _about_ Blair!?" Eric yelled up at him, frustrated. "What about Jenny, Dan? Or your Dad? What about _them_? Maybe you should be more worried about _them_ than Blair Waldorf!"

"Ok, let's play this game then, shall we?" Dan glared at Eric pointedly. "Jenny had a buyer's meeting in Jersey she was going to in Blair's stead, and Dad is on tour with the Band; both safe and sound and out of Manhattan. Blair?" he repeated undeterred.

Eric bit back a growl, but told him what he wanted to know. "Chuck was loaded in the lab one night – God knows why, but he was. And I don't even know how he had a sample of Blair's blood, but he somehow ended up running it through the process."

"And?" Dan questioned, insistent.

"It came back positive for natural antibodies." Eric told him, not wanting to reveal anything further.

"The Manhattan breakthrough?" Dan prodded, taking a tentative hop towards Eric's prone body.

"We were trying to engineer a synthetic antidote from her blood," Eric replied, willing Dan closer silently, "I think we finally got it."

Dan froze. "Think? You better not have dragged me away from finding your sister on a whim, van der Woodsen," he warned icily.

"99.9% accuracy among the rat test group," Eric breathed, the pain in his leg beginning to blur his vision, "genetically very similar to humans. Come on Humphrey, get over here and get this thing out of my leg before I bleed to death will you?" he pleaded, motioning emphatically at his leg.

Dan studied Eric, flat on his back in the rubble, blood spurting from his left leg to puddle in a pool large enough Dan could see it several feet away through the dim night, and considered everything he'd just told him. It made sense enough, but something about the story bothered him. Ruddy had never once mentioned Chuck's obsessive compulsion with the virus. And Dan was pretty sure if anybody would know, it would be the P.I. he'd hired to investigate his girlfriend's step-brother. But that didn't change the fact that the attacks had happened…. Or that he hadn't seen a single soul since he'd dug himself out from under his building. Mind made up, Dan hopped forward, "Fine. We work together."

Eric nodded, relived, "No more shit. We don't talk about anything else except getting to the warehouse and finding my sister and Blair."

Dan's fingers stilled just above Eric's ankle, "If you have the cure, why do you still need Blair?"

"We were only able to synthesize a small amount of the antidote," Eric explained, bracing himself as Dan finally wrapped a hand around his left ankle, "we need her to produce more. And Chuck would slit my throat himself if he ever found out I'd left her behi–"Dan yanked his leg free from the large screw and Eric's world went black.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Grant struggled up the stone steps of the old farmhouse, now supporting practically all of Nate's weight, and kicked a boot against the door. Nothing. He kicked again, leaving angry black scuffs on the wood. Nothing.

He scratched his bearded chin, contemplating the situation. It couldn't be more than eight o'clock at night; he'd only landed the plane shortly after five and they hadn't been walking for more than three hours. Maybe the owners were just out to dinner and would be back soon, and maybe they'd be gone all night. Nate's head lolled unconscious on Grant's shoulder, making up his mind for him and he threw Nate over his shoulder and kicked in the door.

"Come on Nate," Grant pleaded with Nate's unconscious form, "don't do this now. Not now. We're here; you're ten seconds away from hearing her voice." Nate's arms dangled limply against Grant's backpack on his lower back as he surveyed the small stone house. He needed to get Nate warm, NOW.

He didn't bother calling out his presence as he hurried towards the frayed, old love seat in the centre of the tiny room, laying Nate down carefully. He wrapped the half frozen man in the blanket hanging over the back and went in search of every available blanket in the musty home. He found two in the small bedroom off the living room and three more hiding on the top shelf in the closet. He wrapped them tightly around Nate after pulling as much of the younger man's wet clothing from his body he could.

"Hold on now, just hold on." He had to find a phone and get an ambulance out here yesterday; Nate's skin was grey and clammy and he was barely breathing. Where was the phone? Most people had them in their kitchens, didn't they?

Grant began to hurry down the narrow hallway towards the back of the house, where he presumed the kitchen would be, but came to a halt when something half hidden in the hallway closet caught his attention. It was rusty and there was a hole in the plastic tubing, but it looked like it might still work. He sent a silent prayer of please before reaching out and grabbing the oxygen tank. He sighed in relief when it felt heavy enough to still contain some life saving gas and turned on his heel back towards Nate.

"I've got you some oxygen," he spoke softly as he squatted beside Nate to lift his head and secure the mask around his face. The elastic snapped, slapping viciously against a grey cheek, but Nate didn't flinch. "Sorry about that, my boy." Grant apologized as he settled Nate's head back down on the armrest, "Wake up and I'll let you sock me one." He didn't stir. "Ok, you're really starting to give Old Grant a scare here." Grant rubbed his free hand over Nate's blanketed body, attempting to lure heat back into his frigid bones. "We'll do it your way for a couple more minutes, but then you wake your ass up and we call the woman folk." He shifted his hand to close the hole in the plastic tubing to increase the amount of oxygen Nate was breathing in, "Vanessa probably called Janine in tears and she'd tan my hide if I leave her worrying." Grant thought he saw Nate's eyelids flutter faintly, so he rushed on, "That baby of yours is going to be one gorgeous looking kid. V's dark curls and colouring with your eyes; he'll be a heartbreaker for sure. One lucky son of a bitch too, having parents like you two loving him to pieces." Grant readjusted the mask against Nate's face, and flicked an impatient glance towards the kitchen, "And just you wait until she shows; I mean really starts to show. Ain't nothing like a man's woman round with his child to put a spring in his step. You tell my Janine this and I'll gut you like a fish, but I don't like she was ever lovelier than when she was carrying my babies."

"Vanessa…" Nate's scratchy, weak voice startled Grant's attention back down to the loveseat, "Get me the phone."

Grant nodded, hefting himself up and strutting quickly into the kitchen. "It's mounted to the wall," Grant yelled to Nate over his shoulder when he came to a stop in front of the phone. "Cord won't stretch that far. I'm going to call Vanessa and tell her you're ok. Do not move, stay put," he ordered sternly.

Grant grabbed the phone and dialed the familiar number quickly, "V? Sweetie it's Grant. No, no. He's fine. It's ok, he's fine. It was just the engine. Take a deep breath and try to calm yourself down honey, he's fine."

Grant's words floated into the living room, nearly causing Nate's heart to shatter. Shivering madly, he slowly pushed himself to his feet, letting all but one blanket fall to the floor. He wrapped himself tightly in the old afghan as he stumbled feebly down the narrow hallway.

"Sweetheart, I need you to slow down. I can't understand you honey." Grant turned as he heard Nate's heavy footsteps shuffling into the room. He wanted to glare at him and order him back into the living room, but if it was his wife and child he'd be doing the exact same thing – and not a soul would be able to stop him. He nodded once at Nate, relieved to see the sandy haired man's blue eyes staring back at him, and passed him the phone.

Nate's pressed the phone firmly to his ear, relief flooding him at hearing her voice. "I love you," he blurted, interrupting her frantic ramblings, his voice wavering slightly. Taking a deep breath to steady his voice he continued, "Yes baby, it's me. No, no. I'm fine. Grant's ok too. I promise we're ok sweet pea – what is it? Are you ok? What's wrong?" Nate shot Grant a worried look, his heart beating out of his chest, "Is it the baby?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eric and Dan staggered uptown; Dan's ankle reset and splinted as best Eric could manage and Dan's sleeve tied in a tourniquet around Eric's left thigh. They'd avoided the possibility of angering the other by discussing Chuck or Serena by simply traveling in silence, lost in their own thoughts.

Eric gripped Dan's waist tightly as they maneuvered through a particular rocky section of 'street'. Chuck was going to be livid when he told him he'd been unable to locate Blair. And he had a feeling his brother's anger – and they were brothers, in every sense of the work that mattered – wasn't going to be entirely related to the Grafton Project or the survival of the human race, despite his flippant denials. He'd found Chuck, on more than one occasion, passed out at his desk clutching the picture he didn't know Eric knew he kept hidden in the top drawer of his desk in one hand, an empty bottle of aged scotch in the other.

Eric sighed. He hoped Chuck wasn't on his way to Manhattan. If Lily had to sit idly by and watch another one of her children roam the hell that was their hometown…

"Mom?" Eric called into his walkie, "You there? Mom?"

"Still not answering?" Dan asked from beside him.

Eric shook his head as they made their way awkwardly over a leveled billboard, "Nothing – not even static. And it can't be the batteries, mine are still juiced."

"I'm sure she's fine," Dan assured him feebly. "Probably just couldn't stand the not knowing and took a sedative to sleep through it all."

Eric considered this as they slipped back into heavy silence. Dan could be right. Ever since Bart's death Lily had pretty much had a standing order for Valium. She hadn't exactly taken his step father's death easily – none of them had really. Although, surprisingly (next to Chuck) it had been Serena who'd had the hardest time in dealing with it.

Eric's mind flashed back to Dan's earlier accusations. Chuck selling coke to Serena? Chuck had done some heinous things in his lifetime, particularly during the months after he'd lost both his father and his… Charlie– Jesus, Eric didn't even think Chuck was in the state and he couldn't bring himself to even _think_ the word. He remembered the first time he'd tried to offer his brother comfort. He'd used _that_ particular noun and Chuck had flown off the handle and straight into the deep end. Eric had never seen him that shattered, that _broken_. He'd stood before Eric; his eyes wild, fury and grief warring within them, body vibrating with tension, and told him if he ever heard him utter that word again, he'd rip out his tongue and feed it to him. Eric hadn't spoken the word since. Not even in reference to someone other than Charlie when Chuck wasn't around.

"So exactly how much longer until we reach your mystical warehouse?" Dan asked, exertion stealing his breath.

Eric scanned their surroundings. It was difficult to tell exactly where they were with so many of the orienting landmarks lying in tattered ruins beneath their feet, but the uptown district the warehouse was located in – and that was only a stone's throw from Lily's penthouse… maybe they would have time to make a quick pit stop – hadn't suffered as much damage in the blasts as surrounding districts. Eric was nearly positive it was just beyond the mountain of debris they were currently cresting.

And hopefully was still standing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The tiny hairs on the back of Grant's neck stood on end, his pulse pounding in his ears as he watched the muscles in Nate's jaw jump violently.

"It'll be ok sweetheart. Hey, Vanessa… baby," Nate cooed quietly into the receiver, turning his back on Grant. "Listen to me. It'll be ok. I'll come right away; we'll be there as soon as humanly possible."

Grant focused his nervous energy and jumped to action; tracking down suitable clothes to replace their wet ones, filling their backpacks with as much food he could find; all the while keeping an ear closely trained on the quiet murmurs coming from the kitchen.

"Shhh… it's ok, V. I'm coming," Nate soothed, wiping away the silent tears rolling down his cheeks. "I love you so much sweet pea. Please don't cry baby, I'll be there soon. It'll be ok, I'll be there soon."

Grant hung back near the front door, backpacks packed and Nate's change of clothing in his hands. Outside the snow was falling in thick, heavy layers; they'd be lucky to make it back to Toronto by sunrise – _if_ they had landed were he thought they had.

"I love you, Vanessa Abrams." Nate's sorrowful soft voice carried down the narrow hallway, his back still to Grant, "I love you_ both_ with everything I am. ...V? Are you there? Did you hear me? V?"

Grant cleared his throat, "Blizzard looks to have knocked the power out."

Nate didn't acknowledge Grant's words as he slammed the receiver down and stormed down the narrow hallway. He dressed silently, throwing his bag over his shoulder aggressively as he stalked into the angry blizzard. Grant didn't need to ask, the tension in his shoulders, the rage on his face, the anguish in his eyes had all told him.

Vanessa had lost the baby.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eric kicked at a broken door frame angrily as they reached the tip of the bent metal and deformed cement mountain. The warehouse lay half in shambles before them; the portion of the building that still stood tall teetered precariously on the edge of a giant, gapping crater, ready to topple at the slightest gust of wind.

Dan turned to study Eric's expression intently, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. "You can't seriously be considering…" he trailed off, unknowingly tightening his grip on Eric's shoulder.

"Only option we have," Eric shrugged, his eyes locked on the barely upright structure.

"We don't even know for sure we're infected!" Dan exploded. "All this," he roared motioning between the two men and then at the decrepit building, "and we don't even know!"

Eric turned towards him very slowly, deadly serious. "If we aren't infected now, we will be soon. Alexei did something to the virus, altered it somehow; it's quicker, stronger, and ten times more contagious." He pointed towards what was left of the warehouse, "We'll die without what's in there."

"But…" Dan sputtered, but Eric had already shoved off his arm and thrown his bag to the ground between them.

Mind made up, decision made.

Eric was going in.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jonathan stared down at Blair's sleeping form. He was starting to get really worried. So worried in fact, that he'd only patted her back soothingly while she emptied what little was in left her stomach onto the only pair of shoes he now owned. He'd barely even noticed the slushy feeling of his socks the last mile. "Princess?" he whispered, worry raising his voice slightly as he took in her sweat dampened brow and clammy, pale skin. There was still the chance that her fever was merely her body's reaction to being battered and sliced open... but she hadn't opened her eyes for the better part of an hour. Meaning either her brain was swelling from the concussion, or the virus had entered its early stages and the fever had knocked her out. "I think explosions, sutures and a concussion are enough drama - even for you. Let's not add extremely lethal virus to the mix, Ok?"

"Would server you right," Blair croaked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Manhandling me whenever you see fit."

Jonathan smiled down at her, relieved. "Jesus, you scared me Joan."

"I do try," she returned humorlessly, eyes still closed, too tired to balk at the hated nickname.

"Yea well -" he stopped short as a shadowy form lying awkwardly on the ground up ahead caught his eye.

Blair forced open an eye with great effort when she felt his feet still. "What? What is it? Are we there?"

"No." Jonathan replied, squinting at the form through the darkness. "I think there is someone sprawled on the ground up there."

Blair turned her neck slowly, mindful of her concussion, "I don't see anything."

"Just before what used to be McDonald's on the left." Jonathan motioned with his head, "Listen, just stay –"

"NO!" Blair interjected, alarmed. "If you think for one second you're _leaving _me here by myself while you indulge in necrophilia –"

"They could need my help, Blair," Jonathan cut her off exasperatedly as he laid her down on top of an overturned yellow cab. "I'll just be a minute– try not to pass out while I'm gone."

"Or they could be dead!" she whispered loudly after him. For some reason she felt like she was in the middle of a cemetery, and she couldn't bring herself to yell at or threaten him amongst the dead – which is what she really wanted to do.

Jesus, he was moody! One minute he was riding in on his white horse to save her life, the next he was practically dropping her at death's door, gift wrapped. He relied on being a doctor whenever it could get him what he wanted, and ignored it whenever he wanted to irritate her. It was like he was her prince charming and the devil all rolled into one.

Oh, God – that was a _terrifying_ thought.

"Blair!" Jonathan yelled frantically, distracting her form her thoughts. "I need you over here! They're alive!"

Blair took a deep steadying breath. She wasn't exactly sure what he expected her to do. Every muscle in her body, even the ones she hadn't been aware she possessed, ached. She was feverish and shaky, and it felt like a heard of wild elephants was doing the polka on her skull. And she could barely support her own weight, let alone be of any assistance in a field she had utterly no experience.

"Blair!" Jonathan commanded, louder this time, "I need you to take the boy! She's bleeding out!"

Boy? She? What the…?

Blair ambled slowly over to Jonathan, who was kneeling; his back to her, over what she thought was a woman. Or a very effeminate man with Aprodites Pink Nightie painted on his toe nails…. Pink Nightie…

"Move!" Blair yelled, palms suddenly sweaty, blood roaring in her ears as she shoved Jonathan out of the way.

He titled to the side, stunned, revealing just enough of the woman's face for all of the colour to drain from Blair's.

She gasped in horror, "Serena!"

* * *

A/N I'm hopefully going to have Mahogany 10 up this weekend too, for those of you who are following it :)

Lynne


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N I don't own anything. Thank you to the lovely reader who let me know she didn't find my little story offensive, despite living and breathing 911. It is not intended as such what so ever. This chapter really gave me trouble, there was just so much to squeeze in that I ended up having to partition it earlier than I would have liked. I hope no one minds, but it's looking like it's going to be quite the LONG adventure. I know not all of your favourite characters appear in every chapter, but I promise their story lines will be explored in depth eventually. Please let me know what you think, your lovely thoughts keep me going when I'd rather hurl my computer at the wall:) **_

_**THANK YOU to Court and Katy!**_

* * *

Johnson could feel his heartbeat slowing as his blood pumped from his veins and painted his cement grave a crimson red. He wasn't sure how long he'd been unconscious for, but he knew he didn't have much time left. Pretty soon his heart would stop its slow thumping and the steady stream of blood would sputter to a slow trickle, before eventually stopping all together.

If he craned his neck he could see her feet above him; the flashes of pink on her toes that had alerted him to her presence in the rubble peeked out at him through the dark. Ironic that when he'd first glimpsed them he'd thought that she was dead and now he was the one dieing with them watching him do it.

His shallow breaths puffed from his nostrils in moist clouds, but he could no longer feel the cold biting his exposed flesh. He was glad it was going to end like this, slowly drifting into the numbness instead of at Benson's hand. He'd seen what Alexei had done to Raimesh when he'd failed. It hadn't been pretty; not even his identical twin would have been able to identify his body from the mutilated corpse that Benson had proudly dumped at his feet, his eyes shinning with sick enjoyment. No, he was glad it would end this way for him, his mind was too cloudy to pin point the exact reason, but as his heart gave its last thud he knew it had something to do with his work on the virus and the unexpected cold.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jonathan toppled over as Blair shoved past him, rushing hysterically to the half crushed woman's side. She dropped to her knees, mindless of her injuries and began pushing what he thought was blonde hair from the woman's face, though it was too matted with blood for him to be able to tell.

Jesus, the bloody woman was her lost Serena!

"Apply pressure to the wound!" he yelled, forgetting all together about the boy he'd ordered her to look after as he pushed himself quickly to his feet.

Blood seeped through Blair's fingers and coated her hands. "I can't get it to stop!" she screamed frantically, eyes wide with panic.

"Move!" Jonathan ordered, shoving her out of the way roughly. Shit, she'd be dead in less than ten minutes unless he stopped the bleeding, and stopped it now. He knelt down and pushed his hands to Serena's neck, nearly choking her.

Blair scrambled back to her knees. "She can't breath!" she screeched, tugging hysterically on his wrists. Serena's slick blood greased her fingers and she fell backwards again. "Let her breath!"

"If I don't stop the bleeding," Jonathan told Blair, her hands once again wrapping around his wrist, "she won't live long enough to miss the oxygen."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dan shifted his weight to his shattered ankle slowly. He'd been waiting for over a half an hour, stubbornly refusing to lower himself to the broken bits of building and sit idly by, waiting for Eric to return.

God, what if the antidote hadn't survived the blasts? What were they supposed to do then? Eric had said that they wouldn't live long enough to even _search_ for Serena without it – let alone find her.

Or Blair.

He laughed humorlessly. Ironic how he'd spent most of his adult life despising and sparring with his girlfriend's best friend and now she was the source of his only hope to survive this entire fucking mess. It shouldn't surprise him, really; after everything that he'd been through with Serena, of course his survival, _their_ survival would come down to Blair Waldorf.

And _Chuck Bass. _Dan's jaw clenched involuntarily at the thought of the only remaining Bass. He had to be involved in everything, didn't he? Just couldn't resist keeping his fingers out of just one pie; just couldn't help but stick his nose in everyone else's business. If the smug Basstard had just left well enough alone, Serena would be here right now, safe and sound. He wouldn't have spent the better part of the last ten years chasing her around, wiping powder from her nose, or pulling needles from her arm and combing chunks of vomit from her hair. They would have graduated Constance's and St. Jude's and headed off to Yale together like they had planned on, would have gotten engaged their senior year of college like he'd wanted to, and probably be happily married by now with two or three rug rats running around like had always been her plan. Instead, he was sitting half frozen in clothes stiff with his own blood, waiting for the man who wasn't his brother in law to return with a cure to a disease Chuck fucking Bass himself had practically engineered – if the thing still even existed at all.

If it existed…Dan's spine stiffened painfully as Eric's words echoed in his ears, _Alexei did something to the virus, altered it somehow; it's quicker, stronger…ten times more contagious..._

Jesus, Fuck…Would Blair's cure even do anything now?

Was he already as good as dead?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blair dropped her hands from Jonathan's wrist instantly under the threat of her actions harming Serena, but continued to monitor the rise and fall of Serena's chest – and him – like a hawk.

"Do you have any medical training what so ever, Joan?" Jonathan demanded, the adrenaline coursing through his veins hardening his tone.

Blair shook her head. "Just first aid."

He swore under his breath. "Not exactly helpful."

"Well I can't do anything about it now," she spat, eyes never leaving the weak rise and fall of Serena's chest. As long her chest just kept rising and falling everything would be ok.

He was silent so long Blair chanced a quick glance at him. "What?" she questioned, apprehension steeling her breath when she caught sight of the expression on his face.

He raised unreadable eyes to hers. "You're not going to like this," he warned.

"NO," she shook her head vigorously, anticipating his next words.

He continued despite her protests, "She's lost too much blood, Princess." His voice dropped to that soft whisper he only ever used when he was sure he was about to hurt her. She was beginning to despise it more than she'd ever hated anything in all her twenty eight years.

"No," she repeated. Pity crept across his face as her tears warbled her words. "NO!" she screamed, battering his chests with her little fists. If there was anything she hated more than his hushed whisper it was his pity.

"There's nothing I can do," he told her softly. His fingers itched to brush her tears from her eyes but he sensed she wasn't quite ready for him to give up the charade and remove his hands from her friend's neck.

Blair tore her gaze way from his soft voice and pitying eyes angrily. "Don't feed me that line of bullshit!" she snapped. "There is always something doctors can do – they just aren't willing to take the risks!" her eyes swung back to meet his, full of ice and fire, "Well you don't have to worry about me suing you, Dr. Johnny." A sneer twisted her full lips, "Or are you too much of a fucking pussy to do what it takes?"

Jonathan bristled visibly. "You aren't going to like it," he repeated, all traces of tenderness gone from his tone.

Blair nearly spat in his face. "You tell me that again and I'll castrate you," she growled.

He returned her glare, shrugging a shoulder. "You won't like it one bit, _Princess_," he drawled, emphasizing the hated pet name.

This time she did spit in his face. "TELL ME!"

"In my right pocket," Jonathan barked, anger glinting in his eyes as he ignored the gob of saliva sliding down his cheek, "the suture kit; there should be a scalpel tucked inside it. Get it."

Blair shoved her hand into his pocket and yanked out the kit, sending the rest of his pocket's contents flying every which way. "Ok. Scalpel. Now what?" the words rushed from her mouth in one breath but he managed to decipher them.

"There's a man half hidden in the rubble three feet to your right," he indicated the direction with a terse jerk of his head. "Slit his throat."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lily wiped away a stubborn tear with the back of her grimy, grungy hand. She'd been stumbling around the dark and dreary city – if you could even still call it that – for nearly an hour and she'd yet to see another living soul. Not one person - not even bodies. It was like she was living in a zombie movie and this was the eerily quiet scene before the gates of hell opened, unleashing the flesh devouring undead. She shuddered at the thought. She was shaking enough as it was already; just being alone in the dark, she didn't need to think about zombies suddenly appearing to chase her down and gnaw her flesh off.

Another tear trickled down her cheek, the cold night air quickly stealing its heat and nipping at her flesh. Jesus it was cold. What little remained of the high society neighborhood was doing absolutely nothing to shelter her from the wind. Her teeth chattered violently as icy fingers crept under the hem of her sweatshirt and drew her breath from her in visible puffs. When the hell had it gotten so cold? She pulled the thin material of Bart's old sweatshirt over her hands and hugged her arms closer her to torso, continuing her slow stumble towards what she hoped was East Harlem. She should have thought to grab a jacket, or maybe a fucking parka. Christ, she couldn't ever remember being this cold before, couldn't remember the crisp threat of snow in the New York air this early in the winter season – if at all. Maybe it really was the end of the world, or maybe it'd just stopped turning entirely and those who hadn't already been incinerated were doomed to slowly freeze to death. The tears that had been threatening to fall since she'd begged Eric to be careful as he ran out the door broke through the flood gates and streamed endlessly down her cheeks and across her jaw, pooling in the hollow of her neck.

No. She wasn't going to do this. She wiped at the offending salty droplets frantically. She wasn't going to sob and blubber uncontrollably while her children were lost somewhere out there in the dark. They needed their mother's strength, not the weakness behind her tears. She wasn't just going to stand by stoically, shrouded in blackness as she watched another piece of her heart be lowered into the ground. No. She'd find them, no matter what, she'd find them. She didn't care if the four inch stiletto's she'd quickly jammed her feet into had liquid pooling under her skin in huge pockets with every step she took; it didn't matter, it wasn't going to stop her. She'd find them.

A loud crack erupted from the sky above her, a heavy blanket of freezing rain pelting down on the city's desolate landscape around her.

"This isn't going to stop me either!" She screamed to the sky. And it wouldn't; she'd walk through a pit of scalding hot coals barefoot or trek through the Arctic naked before she gave up looking for Eric and Serena or praying for Chuck's safety. Because she'd find them all, safe and sound, if it was the last thing she did.

A frozen ice pellet the size of a small cat struck the top of Lily's head, slicing her scalp. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, her impractical footwear flying from her feet as she slumped forward, unconscious.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eric pressed his back into the warehouse wall, feeling his way in the dark as he skirted a gaping hole in the floor where a large section of ceiling had crashed to the cement below. God, he fucking hoped this wasn't all for naught. He'd talked to his man Damian in the warehouse this morning, right after he'd gotten the call from Arthur letting him know that he and Chuck would be arriving in under an hour, and he had assured him that the antidote was under lock and key exactly where he'd had left it in his second floor office. All he needed now was to _get_ to his office, and fast; he was running out of time. His blood had begun to boil with fever as soon as he hefted himself through the second story window.

He pushed gruesome thoughts of melting flesh and his own impending death from his mind and inched his way across the large room slowly, careful not to shift his weight too quickly. It had already taken him half an hour to skirt the building and climb up the rickety, black metal that could barely be called a fire escape, only to be met with the nearly non existent inch of floor to tight rope across. Christ if there was ever a time the grace he refused to acknowledge had come from imitating Blair and his sister's ballet recitals to kick in, it would definitely be now.

He jumped as hollow thuds suddenly echoed loudly through what was left of the warehouse, and the slick soles of his leather shoes lost their traction on his tiny perch. He titled forward dangerously, frantically clawing at the wall behind him as vision of his body splattered against the floor bellow, broken and bloody, sped through his mind.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"WHAT?" Blair screeched, her shocked fingers nearly fumbling the blade she'd recovered from Jonathan's pocket.

"Slit his throat," Jonathan repeated, his dark green eyes locked on her face. "Or are you too much of a prissy princess to do it?"

"You son of a bitch!" she screamed, tempted to cut the smug smirk from his arrogant face with his own scalpel.

"Relax," Jonathan cut her off before she could do just that, "he's already dead. He won't miss a section of his artery. I can't suture this shut," he continued off her blank look, "I need an artery to graft to the one she's torn all to hell or she dies."

That was all Blair needed to hear. If it was for Serena she'd slit her throat herself and hand him her own damn artery. She jumped to her feet and rushed in the direction he'd indicated, her stomach turning violently as stared down at the half crushed, lifeless man Dr. Doom wanted her to filet like a fish. Thank God for his anal insistence that they remain gloved at all times; her uncharacteristically queasy stomach would not be able to handle sticking her bare hand into this guys' neck.

"Well don't just stand there," he chided from behind her, "we don't have all day! You wanted me to do this! Now, hurry the hell up before she bleeds out or it starts to fucking sno-" a thunderous crack muffled the rest of his words before they could warn Blair of the storm his prematurely arthritic knee had tipped him off to a half an hour ago.

She flew into action as chunks of frozen ice fell from the sky around her; Serena was the only real family she had left, she needed to do this before they were both pummeled to death. She knelt beside the man's head and, with her eyes squeezed tightly shut, hacked blindly at his neck. Heavy ice chunks thumped against cement around her, but she kept blindly slicing her way through flesh, a silent prayer for forgiveness falling from her lips.

"HURRY UP!" came Jonathan's impatient order.

She was sure he was screaming bloody murder, but between her racing heartbeat and the crashing of ice against metal and cement it sounded all similar to his hushed whisper. Her eyes flew open in anger and she quickly sorted through the bloody mess. She found an artery almost immediately, slicing it from the man's neck and rushing it over to Jonathan. "Here!" she thrust her bloody fist under his nose, her eyes glaring daggers at him. "Here's your fucking artery Dr. Kevorkian! Go on, take it!" she yelled when his fingers weren't moving fast enough for her liking.

He shot a gloved hand out to quickly pluck the pink elastic section from her hand. Blood spurted madly from Serena's neck, covering the front of his scrubs and Blair launched herself forward to close the wound.

"Would you get the fuck out of my way!?" he roared, an ice pellet narrowly missing his head. Blair would have smiled triumphantly at the loss of his annoyingly calm, snarky tone if Serena's life wasn't in his hands.

"She needs me! I'm not leaving her!" she yelled defiantly, her hands remaining firmly pressed to her best friend's neck.

He shrugged and vaulted to his feet angrily.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Blair gapped up at him. "HELP HER!"

He merely shot her a look that told her Serena was her problem now.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eric screwed his eyes shut against the horrific images of his own death until finally his finger tips grasped the edges of a brick behind him. Thank fucking God! He dragged in a ragged breath and exhaled it slowly through pursued lips. Jesus Christ, that had been close. He'd thought that had been it. It very well nearly had been too; another ten seconds and he would have plummeted two stories to the wasteland below. He drew in another breath, exhaling it slowly in an attempt to calm his thundering pulse before he pulled himself firmly back on the ledge and up against the wall. Without leaning forward he peered down at where he would have ended up plastered flat as a pancake, and nearly missed the tiny movement of something rolling about on the floor, propelled by the vibrations of whatever the hell was pelting the tin roof of the four story building.

What the hell was down there? It sounded almost like the ping of glass against concrete. And he couldn't be sure in the dark or from this height … but it looked like it just might be…

Yes! It was!

But what were the vials doing out of his office? His eyes flew to the steel door. Still locked shut. His brow crinkled with confusion; he was the only one who had a key.

Ice cold fear crept over his feverish flesh.

Or was he?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Help her!" Blair screamed again, no amount of hale able to hide the desperation in her voice.

Jonathan glared at her hands pointedly. "The more you bitch about this instead of moving your pretty little ass out of my way, the closer she gets to that bright light at the end of the tunnel. Her blood is literally on your hands, Princess."

Blair gulped; frustration, panic, and anger warring for center stage. She hesitated just long enough that Jonathan thought she wouldn't try to slit his throat with the scalpel she was unaware she still clutched in her hand and he took the opportunity to quickly throw her over his shoulder.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" she yelped, fists banging against his taut shoulders in a frantic tattoo. "Put me down this instant!"

He carefully picked his way through the ice slicked rubble, artery still firmly grasped in his hand, and kicked the windshield of an old Honda in with his foot. He tossed her onto the front seat, frustrated anger bubbling in his blood to the point where he didn't care that he'd hurled her onto shattered glass. She was turning out to be entirely much more trouble than she was worth.

"Price!" she screamed after him. "JONATHAN!"

What the fuck was he doing? He was walking right past Serena!

"JOHN-" She started to scream his name once more, intent on climbing right back out the windshield to slit his throat with the scalpel she'd belatedly realized she still had grasped tightly in her hand, but he was already stalking back towards her vehicular prison.

And he had something cradled close to his chest. Was that a child he was protecting from the hale!?

The words he'd yelled at her when they'd first found Serena rushed back to her…_take the boy! _My God, she'd completely forgotten about him! And they'd left him to freeze!

Jonathan glared at her as she scrambled through the windshield until he realized her frantic actions weren't focused on him, but on the tiny child in his arms.

She threw the scalpel to the ground as she reached them, "It's ok sweetheart, you're safe now," she cooed. She reached out to gather him in her arms but her bright red surgical gloves stopped her. She tugged them from her hands before Jonathan could stop her.

"NO!" he yelled loudly, and the little boy burst into terrified tears. "He's infected! Don't touch him!"

"You're touching him!" She hissed as she reached out again to pluck the sobbing child from his arms.

He didn't bother pointing out that he still wore his surgical gloves as he turned the boy away from her efforts. "He's not coming with us, Blair," he told her, steel in his eyes. "He'll kill us both."

Maybe it was the way he said her name, or the way he ordered her around at his will, but something in Blair snapped then. "Then why the fuck would you bother moving him? NO! He's coming with us! Give him to me! He's coming with us!" Tears turned the neck of her blouse see-through, her hands shaking uncontrollably as the words slipped past her lips before she could stop them, "I'm not leaving another little boy to die terrified and alone!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"You stupid son of a bitch!" Dan roared at Eric as he crested the mountain of rubble, his feet slipping and sliding on the hale that had stopped falling only moments ago. "All your fucking know-it-all answers and you didn't stop for one second to _think!_"

"Are you working for him?!" Eric boomed, ignoring Dan's outburst. He didn't wait for him to an answer before he shoved a fist into his face. "Are you?!"

Dan wiped a hand under his nose, glaring at Eric when it glistened with blood. "What the fuck is your problem?!"

"Are. You. Working. For. Alexei!?" Eric stalked toward Dan dangerously, spitting each word with more anger than the last.

"What the hell are you – Jesus, Eric! Your nose!" Dan's anger morphed into shock as he stared at the bright red gushing suddenly from both his nostrils.

Eric ignored Dan's panicked words, too immersed in his rage to register the wetness dripping into his mouth and down his chin. "How did he know about the vials!?" he roared, red droplets spraying from his lips. "Does he know about Blair!? Nate?!"

Dread coiled in the pit of Dan's stomach. "Jesus, Eric. I – I think you're infected," he sputtered, taking a terrified step backward. His injured ankle gave out at the quick movement and he landed hard on his ass.

Eric eyes were glazed, his body shaking from both feverish chills and unrestrained rage. "Answer me!"

Dan stared up at him. He needed to be calm and get the situation back under control before Eric came any closer and the infection spread to him. "Ok. Just hold on a minute," he rushed the words out, quickly holding up a palm to stop Eric as he took another step forward. "Think about it logically. I can't be working for Alexei."

Eric's chest rose and fell quickly. "And just exactly why the hell not?"

"I didn't know about the vials. I didn't know about the cure. I didn't know about Blair. I just wanted to stay in Harlem and find Serena." Dan explained quickly.

Eric remained unconvinced, but motionless. "You're lying."

Dan shook his head slowly. "You know I'm not, Eric. Think about it. It didn't have anything to do with it – with any of this." He took another step forward and Dan rushed on, "You're sick, Eric. I want to help you, did you find the antidote?"

Eric nodded silently through the haze beginning to cloud his mind. His limbs felt heavy all of a sudden, fever beginning to zap him of all his energy.

"Ok, that's good," Dan told him quietly and he pushed himself slowly to his feet. "that's good." He carefully held out a hand as he spoke, "Hand me a vile and I'll inject you with the cure. You'll be good as new in no time."

Eric studied him, an odd expression in his glazed eyes. "I'm going to– " And then he was doubled over and retching violently, the forgotten vials crashing to the ground.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chuck jolted awake suddenly, lying on his back in the dark. He reached out automatically to feel her warm body beside him, but his hand contacted only air and he realized it had just been a dream; she hadn't slept beside him since they were eighteen years old.

"Sir?" Arthur's calm question sliced through his thoughts and he understood that he was still sprawled in the back seat of their borrowed station wagon. He turned his head towards the front seat of the vehicle but Arthur's voice rang out again from somewhere to the left, pulling his attention away from where he'd last seen the grey haired man.

"Here," Arthur told him from the open car door at his useless feet.

When had they stopped? How long had he been out for? Had they reached New York?!

Chuck sat up quickly and searched his surroundings. No, he hadn't been out long enough for it to be New York outside his window; it was still dark out. Then why the hell had they stopped? He turned to ask his personal assistant just that, but the heavy smears of blood marring the back window stopped him. "Arthur?" Chuck questioned, uneasy. "Where is Jeffries?"

"Jeffries remains safely locked in the trunk." Arthur answered, rolling up Chuck's left pant leg as he spoke. "At last check he'd progressed rapidly through stages two and three and remained relatively stable within the confines of stage four."

Chuck turned towards his monotone voice. "And when was… what are you doing?" he questioned, confused.

"It is for the best," Arthur nodded once decisively before he drew a syringe from the silver briefcase on the wagon's floorboards between them.

"No!" Chuck roared, instantly recognizing the contents of the syringe. "Fuck! Arthur, NO!" He tried to drag himself away from the sharp needle, but his legs remained uncooperatively lifeless.

"You led me to believe both the girl and the antidote were located in Manhattan." Arthur pulled the protective cap from the syringe and indicated the open briefcase. "It has recently come to my attention that Mr. Van der Woodsen is not nearly as foolishly sentimental as you appear to be."

"NO!" Chuck cried, frantically trying to bend himself in half to ward off Arthur's attack. "Eric's stock pile is useless! We need her!"

Arthur raised a busy eyebrow at him skeptically, "I fail to see how that could be possible."

Fear squeezed tightly around Chuck's heart. "The antidote won't do shit all against the new strain, it's fucking useless! We need Blair!" he added, saying her name a loud for the first time in six years.

Arthur shook his head in disagreement, wrapping bony fingers around Chuck's ankle. "Untrue and erroneous," her replied evenly. "The virus base remains fundamentally unchanged. And the antidote which, need I remind you was engineered at my hand, remains functionally sound."

"Fucking Stop!" Chuck cried, frantically trying to reach the far door behind him, but Arthur's grip surprisingly held him fast. "We need her!" he roared again as he watched him plunge the sharp needle into his right calf. "Dammit! NO! We need her! We need her!" The edges of his vision began to blur, and his head slumped against the seat, his neck to weak to sustain its weight any longer. "No…Blair," he whispered in vain as the sedative coursed quickly through his veins and he crumpled back down onto the seat, "I need Blair…"

Arthur frowned down at his unconscious form as he disposed of the syringe before climbing back behind the wheel to continue on their way north to Canada.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dan rubbed his throbbing nose and watched as Eric collapsed unconscious in his own blood and vomit. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? He was miles away from Serena and had been hobbling along for hours skin to skin with a man who'd just collapsed, already half dead from the virus. He was more than likely infected himself, and the cure that he'd been led to believe was their only hope basically was as good as a paper umbrella in the rain. Fucking useless.

He limped forward and picked up one of the only two vials that hadn't shattered after Eric had dropped them, and stared at it intently. It reminded him vaguely of Vanessa's epipen, though he could tell the needle within the apparatus was at least an inch longer, probably even long enough to pierce his carotid artery.

Was that really something he was considering now? Slitting his own throat? Had it really come to that?

Dan starred down at Eric's limp form. "You stupid son of a bitch! This is all your fucking fault! It's your throat I should be thinking about slitting – not mine!"

And before Dan could stop himself, uncontrollable rage surged through him, flicking the cap off the little vile and plunging the needle deep into Eric's neck. The full implications of the sandy haired man's ravings crashed into him the moment he registered the needle protruding from Eric's neck.

Something inside the warehouse had made him think that Dan was working for this Alexei. It could only mean one thing: the building didn't house an _obsolete_ antidote at all, not if Alexei had sent someone to it.

The cure still worked…

Dan's breath caught in his chest.

…he'd just pierced Eric's carotid artery with the very thing, the _only _thing that could have saved his life.

Mother of God.

* * *

A/N - I'll update as quickly as I can, I know this one is light on Chuck and void of N/V.

Lynne


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N I don't own anything, not meant to be offensive. THANK YOU to everyone who has been leaving their thoughts, they keep me pushing through:). Please let me know what you think! **_

_**THANK YOU to Feef and ladymacbeth922 on LJ

* * *

**_

Dan starred down at Eric's terrifyingly limp form

Oh, shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

What the hell had he done?

Had he really just done that? Had he seriously just stabbed a man's neck? _Eric's_ neck?

Had he just… had he just _killed_ Eric Van der Woodsen?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Jesus Christ!" Blair roared, her nostrils flaring as her chest heaved rapidly. "Give him to me!"

She snatched the terrified child from Jonathan's confused grip, ignoring the searing pain that the impromptu surgery had renewed with a vengeance in her shoulder as she tucked the child into her chest, pinning the arrogant ass before her with a look that hadn't marred her features since before she shivered feverishly in his arms. "Serena. NOW."

Jonathan eyed her for a split second longer before he merely nodded and hurried back to the Serena's side; his failure to toss a despicable pet name or arrogant quip over his shoulder hanging heavily in the air around her.

Or more aptly… like a noose around Serena's neck.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Who the hell set the alarm clock for this early? Lily reached out a hand to slap off the annoying buzz and it connected with something that was most definitely not plastic. She forced one confused eye open. She wasn't nestled in the comfortable warmth of her king size bed at all, but was sprawled face down on freezing cold, and oddly wet, cement.

And the incessant buzz wasn't the annoying screech of her alarm clock, but was coming from inside her head…. which, come to think of it, felt like she'd rammed it through a brick wall. Or been conked on the head with an anvil made from stone – or ice.

Ice? Where had that come… oh! The hale!

Lily sprang upright, barely managing to swallow the urge to hurl as pain exploded behind her eyes and squeezed her stomach. She grabbed her head in her hands until the stars dissipated and her vision cleared, but the buzzing refused to go away.

No. It wasn't buzzing, it was voices!

And… yes! A _Male_ voice!

Eric!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The wind wiped angrily at Grant's face, pulling on his ears and shoving gusts of snow down his collar. He followed Nate carefully, watching as he struggled to make his way sluggishly through the hip deep snow. The younger man kept wordlessly shrugging off any help Grant tried to offer him; regardless of the fact that he'd been an unconscious Popsicle only an hour ago. He wouldn't stop to catch his breath, shook his head vigorously whenever Grant tried to make him eat any of the food he'd salvaged from the old farm house, and had yet to take so much as one sip of water. And he'd barely even acknowledged Grant's presence behind him since he'd eased his pace half an hour ago. Grant was beginning to contemplate tackling Nate to the ground to force sustenance past his stubbornly shut lips.

"You need to eat something," Grant called to his back through the ragging storm.

Nate's spine remained ramrod straight; he didn't turn around or nod his head, but Grant knew his words hadn't entirely been lost blocked by the nearly opaque wall of white separating them.

"Nate," Grant tried again, his muscled thighs burning in protest as he forced them quickly through the sea of white to close the gap between them. He pulled a half numb, beefy hand from the pocket of the too small jacket he'd traded his own soaked jacket for and grabbed at Nate's elbow.

Nate's feet stilled, but he didn't turn blue eyes in Grant's direction.

"You can't do this to yourself," Grant's voice was as soft as he could chance it being without the storm pummeling his words into unheard oblivion. "You're no good to Vanessa like this," he tugged on Nate's elbow until the boy had no choice but to face the man who'd been his surrogate father for years, but he kept his eyes averted. "You need to rest, have some water – eat. It'll only do her more harm seeing you like this."

Nate didn't respond.

Grant hesitated, silently contemplating whether to cross the imaginary line Nate had drawn so clearly in the snow between them. Finally, he decided that he couldn't just sit back and watch the man Nate had become despite everything he'd had to overcome – the man he didn't even think he was to begin with, be destroyed. "I know you don't want to hear this," he let his voice harden slightly and Nate's gaze shifted to his face, taken aback, "but I love you like you were my own, and I feel I've earned the right to say it." Grant let his words linger in the air between them meaningfully before he continued, "Don't let him do this to you; you're better than this. Don't carry his sins on your shoulders; don't make the same mistakes he did." He reached out his free hand to grab Nate's collar when he moved to turn away from him, "You are not your father, Nathaniel. So stop acting like him and start taking proper care of yourself and of Vanessa."

Nate glared at Grant, his jaw clenched; his hands fisted so tightly at his sides that his knuckles had gone whiter than the snow. And then without warning, he shoved his white knuckled fist into Grant's face, catching the ex-military man completely off guard, and knocking him flat on his back in the snow.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

On some level Chuck knew he was dreaming; he hadn't been in this room, or even this house, since that day in late November. And yet here he was; the walls as blue as if he'd only painted them yesterday instead of nearly ten years ago, the plush carpeting as soft beneath his feet as it ever had been. And her, exactly as she had been that day, in the centre of it all, as if he'd never left.

She'd been standing with her back to him dressed head to toe in black, and though he couldn't see her face he knew there would be matching circles beneath her eyes. He had wanted to comfort her, scream at her, throw her against the wall and bury himself inside her – anything to stop his heart from tearing itself from his chest, his soul from blackening, but he hadn't been able to _do_ anything, could only stand in the door way drinking himself numb and watch as her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

She hadn't know he was there; she was too lost in her own sea of pain and grief to register anything but the heavy weight of nothingness that had descended upon her the moment the mechanical blips had melded together in one solid, continuous beep. He'd nearly felt his own heart stop beating then, right long with his – had wished many times since that it had.

He wasn't sure what it had been that had pulled his blurry eyes to her hands then, the drapes had been drawn; the late morning sun unable to glint off the metallic chain entwined in her fingers, but he'd watched them then as he watched them now, fiddling with the little gold band that had been the bane of his existence long before he'd even come to realize it. Fitting, since the red of rubies had always embodied both passion and rage.

And then the images before him bled into people and places his eyes had never witnessed. A small amber eyed boy kicking his legs enthusiastically as they rose in the air and swung back towards to the ground; a dark haired man laughing happily as he pushed the small boy higher and higher on his swing under the watchful eye of a delicately beautiful woman plump with child and happiness.

But the man pushed the child too hard and he fell to the ground, landing awkwardly amid the sand with a sickening snap of his neck, his unseeing eyes seemingly beckoning Chuck to him, pleading for help as the adults circled each other dangerously, spitting and biting and scratching each other repeatedly as he lay dying. But Chuck couldn't move, couldn't go to him, couldn't call out; couldn't even force a twitch form his useless limbs.

And then suddenly the grassy playground and the boy were gone and he was sitting on the front porch of an old log cabin nestled between two snowy peaks. The cold bit his ears and nipped his nose; caressing his cheek with its icy, bony fingers and stealing his warmth. Snow was falling from the sky in spades to frost the mountain tops until the sinister grey monsters could no longer withstand the blanketing purity and shook off the offending cold crystals. White somersaulted end over end down rocky grey towards him, but again his limbs imprisoned him and he could not move. He opened his mouth to scream as the avalanche of snow crashed over him.

His eyes flew open.

Or at least he would have screamed had he been able to do anything but blink and breathe.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dan had to remind himself to breath. Not that he should be allowed to still be breathing when he'd just… _murdered_ his girlfriend's brother. Fuck. He'd just murdered his girlfriend's brother. Jesus, he should be shot. And maybe doused with gasoline and lit on fire. His knees gave out, but he barely registered the jolt of shins crashing into jagged rocks. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck was he supposed to do know? What the hell was he going to tell Serena? What the hell was he going to tell himself? Guilt churned in his stomach and spewed past his lips in a greenish-yellowish bile, splattering next to Eric's…

_body._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blinded by tears of joy, Lily raced up the giant pile of jumbled skyscraper. It shifted unevenly beneath the strain of her weight, causing her to stutter and stumble ever second step. Sharp edges tore eagerly at the soles of her bare feet, but she felt nothing but the blissful numbness of pure joy. Eric was somewhere on the other side, hidden from view by the grey monster before her. She could feel it in her bones.

She had finally found him!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blair shifted her position slightly, absently nestling the small boy against her shoulder. She'd been sitting cross legged on the rubble two feet from Serena, watching Jonathan like a hawk and unknowingly rocking the terrified boy in her lap since she'd ordered the good Doctor to get his ass in gear nearly an hour ago.

The constant thundering that was her heart beat slowed considerably as she watched Jonathan's hands move swiftly and competently, attempting to bribe life back into the statuesque blonde. She chanced a glance down at the tiny boy clinging to her neck once the worried expression marring his features softened slightly and her heart bled for him. His lips were blue and he was half frozen from the cold; the light sweater and jeans, that under normal conditions would have been more than enough to ward of a light November chill, were doing next to nothing to stave of the frigid cold that had descended upon them. Shit, he was practically hypothermic! How had she not noticed? And when had it gotten this cold?

Blair hugged the small child to her chest protectively in a move that still came naturally despite being years out of practice and tried not to cry out in pain as he buried his face in her injured shoulder. "Shhhhh," she cooed soothingly as she gently rocked him back and forth, "it's ok now. I've got you, you're safe. You're alright." He titled his head slowly to look up at her, amber eyes fraught with worry meeting hers. "Hi there," she greeted cautiously. He hiccupped against a fresh round of tears and she automatically patted his back reassuringly, ignoring the fire that tore through her injured body at the motion; she didn't want to scare the terrified and timid thing by wincing. He shifted slightly in her lap and cuddled himself into her breast, staring up at her shyly as she slowly swayed him. His lips were still tinged blue, but no longer looked like she'd applied thick lipstick to them, and his hair was dark and curly, falling in heavy wisps into his amber eyes. Jesus, he was no more than ten years old – the same age Charlie would be if…

She pushed the painful memory to the back of her mind, refusing to acknowledge the tears that suddenly sprang to her eyes, and brushed a dark lock of hair back from his forehead.

Fuck, he was burning up.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_Body._ Eric's body. Fucking hell. He was dead.

He tore guilty eyes from Eric's expressionless face.

No. This wasn't happening. I just wasn't happening.

He flicked another quick look at Eric, but he remained eerily still.

Shit, it was happening, he was fucking dead.

At Dan's hand. No, no, no, this wasn't his fault. He'd had to do it. This wasn't his fault. Eric was infected and crazed from fever; he would only have infected Dan too. This wasn't his fault.

No, this could all be laid at Chuck fucking Bass' feet. He was the one who'd financed Eric's death, the one who'd unleashed this hell on Manhattan. Chuck was ultimately the reason why Eric lay dead at his feet. It wasn't Dan, he hadn't infected….

Wait. Something didn't sit well with Dan. How had Eric been infected in the first place? And when? He was so sure that the virus was unlike anything the world had ever seen before, but Dan had spent the last four hours with him and four more wandering around Harlem, completely exposed, and hadn't been infected.

What the hell was going on?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Grant massaged his jaw as he trailed behind Nate at what he thought was a relatively safe distance. The boy had a pretty good arm on him; his jaw was already starting to stiffen from the swelling. Although he figured that it was the least he could do, letting Nate clock him one. Because of the mishap with the oxygen mask - yes, but mainly because the boy had just needed to put his fist through something and if it helped him work himself out before they reached Vanessa, then Grant was more than happy to volunteer.

He sighed as he watched Nate trudge through the frozen snow. It would be unbearable in and of itself to loose their baby, but that it happened just as Nate was being to accept that history didn't have to repeat itself, that he wasn't doomed to follow in his father's footsteps… it was like taking two steps forward only to be knocked a hundred steps back. He couldn't stand to see him do this to himself. He wasn't The Captain, didn't even come close to being the type of man who would shirk his responsibilities and abandon his family. To Nate, Vanessa had never been a burden he had to live with or a constant reminder of his failures and, in all the years he'd known him, Grant had never seen him look at Vanessa with anything other than adoration in his eyes.

Their relationship could not have been more perfect if they tried. Vanessa understood Nate and let him be who he was; she didn't expect anything from him but him – regardless of who his father was or what he had done, and Nate had always given Vanessa the freedom to express herself without reservation; he didn't restrict her or judge her, but reveled in her uniqueness. Grant liked to think that, aside from him and Janine, they were two of the most evenly matched people on the planet. And they loved each other the way only dead poets could ever fully understand; losing the baby would devastate them.

Grant's heart went out to him; he knew the pain of losing a child, probably more than Nate was ware of, but he didn't think it was something he would hear right now, least of all from him. Maybe Janine would be able to get through to him. He had a feeling that a woman's perspective just might be the thing to smack the sense back into Nate he'd been missing lately. Normally the lad had a way of eventually coming to the right conclusion on his own, but judging by the tension in his shoulders and the look in his eye it was going to take more than just the passage of time for him to pull his head from the past and really see what he'd been putting Vanessa through the last couple of weeks.

Grant nodded to himself absently as he watched the younger man, still weak from his hypothermic bought of shock and his outright refusal to waste a second eating, make his way through the cold night on sheer will power alone. Maybe he had the right idea and getting to Vanessa as quickly as humanly possible wasn't such a bad idea after all. Grant only hoped that the five or so hours it would take to trek back into the city would provide Nate with enough time to battle his demons.

And not succumb to them.

Grant shuddered involuntarily. He didn't like eerie silence enveloping them that seemed to stretch for miles, or the uneasy feeling beginning to root itself firmly in the pit of his stomach.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Eric!" A metal sliver sliced through Lily's palm unnoticed as she half ran / half crawled up the hill. "ERIC!"

Dan's head snapped up in panic as Lily came tearing up the mountain toward him. Her eyes were wild with hope, her hair a bloodied, frizzy halo around her head. "Lily!" he jumped to his feet and rushed toward her attempting to draw her attention away from her son's corpse behind him. "Jesus, Lily! Are you alright?" He grabbed her upper arms, twisting her around so that her back was to the gruesome sight of her youngest son. "What happened to your head?"

Her head whipped around, searching frantically for Eric. "Where's Eric?! Where's my baby?!"

"Lily," Dan's voice was surprisingly calm compared to the hurricane raging inside him, "I need you to calm down."

"Where the fuck is Eric?!" She screamed, ripping her arms from Dan's grasp. He fell backward at the unexpected break and she seized the opportunity, racing away from him towards the lump of human that had caught her eye. "Eric!" the knees of her jeans ripped open against broken glass as she sunk to the ground, staining the light denim a deep red and mixing with the content of her son's stomach splashed around his unmoving head.

"I didn't want you to see him like that," the words rang hollow to Dan's ears and he couldn't bring himself to lay a comforting hand to the woman who'd often been a surrogate mother to him over the past ten years.

And whose son he'd slain in cold blood.

Lily gently caressed her son's cheek, wiping bile from his lips, but said nothing.

Dan shoved his useless hands into his pockets, his eyes on his shoes. "I didn't have any choice. The bombs weren't the only…" he swallowed slowly, gathering the nerve to finish his sentence and explain Eric's death, "there's a virus. Eric was exposed…" he let his sentence trail off, unable to find the words.

He was expecting her to explode; hit and bite and punch or yell and scream threats. He was even half expecting her to try to kill him herself, and truth be told he wouldn't have stopped her. What he was _not_ expecting; however, was the arms she threw around his neck in happiness, wet tears of relieved joy dampening the crook of his neck or the soft side to side motions as she rocked him against her breast. But what he was most definitely not expecting was the wobbly 'thank you' she whispered against his cheek as she pressed her lips there before returning to knees beside her son.

What did she think was going on?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chuck blinked frantically. What the fuck was going on?

"Please attempt to remain calm, Sir," Arthur's dull drone both startled and comforted him. At least he was still alive and exactly where he'd been before he'd fallen asleep and not suffocating under a tidal wave of snow.

No – not sleep, he hadn't fallen asleep. Arthur had fucking sedated him!

"I apologize," Arthur cut through his panicked rage, reading his mind. "However, you left me no alternative."

Chuck's eyes bugged out of his head as he strained pathetically to lift a hand or lick his lips – anything.

Cool blue eyes flitted from the darkness beyond the windshield to quickly assess their passenger, "Do not be alarmed, the increased paralysis is chemically induced. I felt it the best course of action to preserve my safety until we successfully reach our destination."

Chuck exerted control over the only thing he had left _to_ exert control over and shut his eyes against the old man's explanations.

His attention refocused on navigating the old station wagon Arthur continued, "The paralytic will also aid to accurately assess and diagnose your condition. Restricting movement in the vertebral spines reduces the swelling inflicted by trauma sustained during and subsequent to the crash," Arthur adjusted his hands on the steering wheel and the car swerved quickly to the left and then back to the right, "and may reveal the paralysis to be temporary."

Chuck's eyes snapped open at that.

"Please remain calm," Arthur chided without sparing him a glance, "the sedative and paralytic agent have proven themselves to be rather volatile when combined with increasing hear rates. And as I was unable to reproduce the recommended dosage exactly due to the sparse contents of the briefcase, you would do well to relax until we arrive."

Relax? Just fucking relax? He needed a God damn drink, that's what he fucking needed! Relax! Lying flat on his back at the mercy of Arthur the Terrible and the world going to hell in a fucking hand basket?

And him - being dragged further and further away from New York and the cure… and closer and closer to_ him_ with every tiny breath he took.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Lily…" Dan stepped forward tentatively, placing a hesitant hand on her shoulder. "Eric's -" and then he saw it; or rather _didn't_ see it. There wasn't any blood; Eric wasn't bleeding.

How was that possible?

If he'd stabbed him through his carotid there would be blood everywhere, but there wasn't a drop - nothing. Not even where the needle jutted out from his neck. And he was breathing! It was faint and barely noticeable, but it was there!

Oh, thank God. He'd never been this happy to be the world's worst athlete before in his life! Never been happier to be unable to wack a leather ball with a wooden bat or hit the broad side of a barn. "…not dead," he finished lamely.

"Of course he's not," Lily responded without dragging her eyes from Eric's face.

"I know," Dan rushed the words out quickly, "I just didn't want you thinking he was. You know, because of the needle…"

Lily seemed to notice the glass syringe in her son's neck just below his ear for the first time and turned questioning eyes on Dan.

"Antidote," Dan explained licking his lips nervously. "For the virus. I didn't have any other choice," he repeated defensively, "he didn't have much time left."

Lily nodded, her eyes shinning with grateful tears. "Thank you."

"Thank you."

Dan jumped at the hoarse croak, his eyes jumping to Eric's face. His skin was pale, his eyes still dull with fever, but he stood under his own steam and crossed to Dan, enveloping him in a grateful hug. "Thank you," he repeated, his voice heavy with emotion. Steadying himself with both hands on Dan's shoulders, he pulled back slowly. "I don't know what I would have done if you weren't here." He cleared his throat awkwardly, swallowing against the tears that threatened to fall, "And I'm sorry for think-"

Dan cut him off before he had a chance to finish, "No. You don't have to apologize." He grabbed for Eric's arms as he swayed slightly on his feet, "You need to sit down. Rest - get your strength back."

"No," Eric shook his head stubbornly. "You saved my life and I want to ap-"

"You don't have to," Dan interjected quickly, guilt eating his insides. "Really – I'd rater you didn't." He forced a chuckle, "I don't want to have to return the gesture."

Eric smiled weakly and nodded. Lily cleared her throat pointedly from behind him and he reached an arm back, beckoning her to him. He held Dan's gaze a minute longer before he wrapped both arms around his mother, hugging her tightly to his chest. "I'm fine mom, it's ok," he cooed softly into the matted mess of her hair, the needle long gone from his neck. "Shhhh… don't cry. I'm fine, I promise."

Dan averted his eyes, giving them a moment in private before he cleared his throat. "I hate to break this up, but you need to get the hell out of here."

"Yes," Lily wiped fat tears from her cheeks. "Yes – we need to find Serena."

"No."

Eric turned to Dan in shock. "What?"

"You're right," Dan frowned apologetically at Lily, "I'm sorry Lily, but he's right. Eric couldn't have been infected more than three hours ago at the most." He turned stubborn eyes to Eric, "It's just not safe for the two of you."

Eric cocked an eyebrow, "Two of us?"

"I'm going to find Serena," Dan's tone left no room for argument.

Eric sighed heavily, preparing to rehash the argument they'd already argued to death, but Lily's flabbergasted gasp cut him off, "What?!"

He turned sorrowful, apologetic eyes on his mother, cupping her face in his hands. "I'm sorry," his voice wavered as he tried to find the words to explain to her why they had to leave Serena behind, "but there's no other way. It's too dangerous. We have to leave now." He hesitated briefly, choosing his words carefully before continuing, "She might not even still be-"

"No!" Lily shook her head, refusing to hear him vocalize the fear that had been plaguing her since the first blasts had rocked Manhattan. "NO."

"He's right," Dan cut in, seizing the opportunity to agree with Eric for the first time in, well, years. "I hate to admit it, Lily, but he's right. It's too dangerous for the two of you. You need to leave. Now."

"Humphrey," Eric glared at Dan, the colour returning to his cheeks.

Their fragile, unspoken truce at an end, Dan glared back. "Don't throw your weight around with me, Van der Woodsen. I said I'm staying and I'm staying. I'm not leaving without her."

Lily tugged at Eric's shirt frantically, but he kept his eyes locked on Dan's. "You don't have to do this."

"Yes," Dan returned, "I do."

"You'll die," Eric warned over Lily's head, ignoring her angry tirade.

"I've been dead for years," Dan shrugged, but his eyes belied the casual action and Eric studied him intently, seeing past the thinly veiled reference to his sister's supposed drug abuse.

Dan hesitated, but the words were clamoring to escape and he heard them fall from his lips before he could stop them. "It can't touch me – I'm immune."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blair glanced at Jonathan worriedly, but his hands were still wrist deep in Serena's neck and she selfishly wanted to keep them there.

Feverish chills began to wrack the boy's small body and lull him into unconsciousness. "What's your name, kiddo?" she asked, attempting to keep the worry from her voice as she bounced him back awake in her arms. "I'm Blair," she added when his cold lips remained unmoving.

"Zack," came his barely audible reply.

"Well Zack," Blair continued, infusing her voice with a calmness she didn't quite feel, her eyes trained on Jonathan's nimble hands, "you see that man over there?" She motioned toward Jonathan, even though Zack's eyes had slid shut once again, "His name is Jonathan and he's a doctor. And…" she trailed off, realizing that that was all she knew about Dr. Jonathan Price. He'd been hauling her around Manhattan for hours; withholding pain medication, sticking needles in her arms, and selectively offering up medical attention, and all she knew about him was his name and occupation.

Blair shuddered. _If_ he even was who he said he was – he didn't act like much of a doctor to her.

Her eyes flew to the hands holding Serena's life in their palms. My God, for all she knew he could be an escaped mental patient or could have crawled away from prison unnoticed amidst all the chaos! But he knew about medical terms and how to suture, and viruses.

Cold terror froze Blair's blood.

_A lot_ about **_this_** virus… more than he could have possibly learnt during the few chaotic hours he said he'd spent working on _non_ infected patients in the ER…

Holy fuck.

…he could be the one behind it all…

* * *

A/N Happy Holidays to everyone. My neck of the woods is pretty busy right about now, so I thank you for your continued patience and support of the story! :)

(I'll try to update Mahogany before the week is out, but it's looking pretty slim)

Lynne


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N Same as always. THANK YOU to everyone taking the time out of their busy holiday schedules to review this, please continue to let me know what y'all think of it:)!**_

_**THANK YOU to COURT and KATY! Love you both.**_

* * *

A young, muscular man cleared his throat from the doorway, "Sir?"

Cold black eyes rose slowly to acknowledge the interruption.

"Captain estimates touchdown in New York in less than two hours."

A dark brow rose slightly.

The younger man rushed on quickly, "The equipment is ready and waiting for your arrival. No word from Johnson. At last check in he still had not tracked down the girl."

Slender fingers drummed impatiently against the oak surface of an antique desk.

"But Benson has been located. His device is turned off, so he's more than likely found the girl and plans on taking care of her himself, as you suspected he would."

A second brow rose slowly.

"Mr. Bass' private aircraft contained the remains of flight staff only; he and the scientist remain unaccounted for."

"And Sasha?"

The muscular man jolted at the amount of rage infused into the name. Unable to form a steady reply, he shook his head.

"Unacceptable."

The younger man gulped nervously and nodded before he turned intent on scurrying out of the room.

"Carter?" the word lunged at the younger man, stopping him dead in his tracks.

"Y-yes Sir?"

"Have him found," black eyes narrowed to slits, "or else."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chuck blinked slowly; attempting not to alert the traitorous son of a bitch to his left to the tingling sensation in his lips and jaw, but the man was infallible in his observations. "Feeling should be returning shortly to your upper extremities as well," he informed Chuck without shifting his focus from the road.

Chuck pursed his lips, getting used to the feeling of them being back under his own control before he answered. "Come within three feet of me with a needle in your hand ever again and I'll make you wish you were never born."

Arthur nodded his understanding, "Noted."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eric's jaw nearly unhinged as Dan's words hung heavily in the air between them.

…"_It can't touch me – I'm immune."_

Son of a Bitch! He WAS working for Alexei!

"No," Dan held up a palm, cutting into Eric's murderous thoughts before he could act on them. "I have nothing to do with this whole fucking mess. This," he motioned widely at the destruction surrounding them, "this is all you, Eric. All _Chuck_."

"Don't you even try to lay this at my feet you self righteous son of a bitch!" adrenaline shot through Eric's veins, giving him the strength to dodge past his mother and hurl himself into the man he refused to believe was their last hope for salvation. "What did he offer you?!" Dan's skull slammed against the jagged rubble as they crashed to the ground, "What!? Or was selling Chuck out enough of an incentive for you?"

"I didn't fucking DO anything you shit for brains mother fucker!"

He jerked Dan's head sideways into the steel post of a billboard, ignoring his plea of innocence, "What else does he know?"

"Enough! Stop it!" Lily's screeched hysterically from somewhere behind him, but her words might as well have fallen on deaf ears.

Bone cracked sickeningly against steel, "Who else did you sell out – Blair? Nate? TELL ME!"

Lily pulled frantically at her son's shoulders, collar, and arms – anything she could grasp, "ERIC! Eric stop! Jesus, Eric you'll kill him! Stop it! He's telling the truth! HE'S TELLING THE TRUTH! STOP!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Nearing the Canadian border, Sir," Arthur cut into Chuck's thoughts, once again reading his mind.

Chuck grumbled a string of profanities under his breath that would make Lily blush head to toe with embarrassment. He was sick and tired of Arthur and his self righteous bullshit. He wasn't fooling anybody; they both knew exactly who he was and exactly what he'd done in the past.

If there was a hell, Arthur was going straight to its seventh level.

Chuck closed his eyes and willed the bastard beside him into an early grave.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eric's head wiped around instantly, Dan's semi conscious form hoisted half off the ground in a death grip.

"Stop all this crap and listen to me!" Lily screamed. "He's not in league with Alexei. Chuck had him and everyone remotely associated with the family checked out years ago; everyone's clean. Put him down, he doesn't have anything to do with this!"

Eric's eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

"What?" Lily raised a blood matted eyebrow as she pried a whimpering Dan from Eric's vice grip. "You think because you didn't tell me that I didn't know? I wasn't married to Bart Bass for two years without picking up a couple of things along the way."

"You knew…" Eric pushed himself off Dan into a standing position, flabbergasted, "this whole time… everything with…all of it? You knew?"

Lily glanced up at him from where she was inspecting Dan's newest injuries, "Who do you think suggested testing Blair's blood?"

"What?" Eric sputtered, shock reeling him backwards. "I thought he…What?!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Sir?" Arthur's maddeningly monotone voice once again cut into Chuck's thoughts.

Chuck mentally added pushing pins through the man's eyeballs to the lists of things he was going to do to him when he regained control over his arms before gracing him with a reply, "Yes, Arthur?" His voice was still gravely from hours of non use, but the venom dripping from his words more than made up for what they lacked in volume.

"I thought you would like to be informed of Jeffries' death," Arthur returned evenly.

Panic shot through Chuck's veins, "How long ago?"

"Four hours, Sir."

"WHAT!?" Chuck roared. He vaulted upright into a sitting position without consciously being aware of it. "Why wasn't I informed immediately!?"

Arthur shrugged one boney shoulder, "I thought it best to wait."

"WHY?!" Chuck demanded.

Light blue eyes glanced quickly over Arthur's shoulder, "We hadn't yet made it out of New York."

Chuck's blood began to boil. "We were IN New York? Less than an HOUR away from _**her**_ – from the fucking cure – and you TURNED THE CAR AROUND?!"

Unfazed by Chuck's outburst, Arthur nodded. "I have already explained to you why I thought it best, Sir. I have only been convinced of the validity of my actions upon further investigation."

"Validity of your actions?!" Chuck boomed. "Validity of your actions!!"

"Yes," Arthur replied calmly, "and if you were aware of what is at stake-"

"Smug son of a bitch!" Chuck roared, cutting him off viciously. "I'm well aware of what's at stake!"

"Are you?" Arthur asked glancing pointedly as the silver case lying forgotten on the floor of the station wagon.

"YES!" Chuck hissed through clenched teeth, refusing to glance at the briefcase.

"You are not, perchance, merely consumed by your damsel?" Arthur arched a busy white eyebrow, "Or s-"

Chuck leaned forward, rage radiating from every pore on his body, to within an inch of Arthur's face, "Say it and it will be the _last_ sound you ever make."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lily swung her gaze away from Eric's, busying her fingers at the back of Dan's head, "It's unimportant."

"Unimportant?" Eric nearly lost his footing on the slippery concrete. "What do you know? MOM!" he roared when she refused to meet his eyes, "I need to know what you know!"

Lily's eyes snapped back to her son's, "Like maybe I needed to know that this wasn't just a terrorist attack? Don't you think it would have been helpful to inform me that your sister was running around in _this_ instead of just leaving me in the dark …_by myself_?"

Eric searched for his voice, but like the chastised five year old he suddenly felt like, it had abandoned him to hide from Lily somewhere amongst the rubble.

"It's unimportant," Lily repeated when she was offered no explanation for having been kept in the dark for nearly a decade by her own flesh and blood. "All you need to know is that Blair may not be the only cure for this thing." She focused her attention at the back of Dan's skull and, deciding his scratches were too superficial to require stitches, she continued, "We need to get your sister and Blair and get the hell out of Manhattan."

"No," Dan's soft protest was barely audible above the pounding in Eric's ears.

Lily shook her head sternly, "No arguments. We get Serena and Blair and we get out."

"NO," Eric cut in vehemently.

Lily shot to her feet, "What do you mean 'NO'?! I'm not leaving without Serena!"

"We don't have any choice," Eric looked down at Dan unapologetically as he struggled to his feet, "especially if Humphrey _is _immune. We need to get out – now."

Dan spat blood red saliva onto grey concrete, "'_If_'. Think about it asshole. We've been trudging through this thing for hours and even though you claim it's the second coming or some fucking apocalyptic plague, you were the only one of us foaming at the mouth twenty minutes ago." He steadied himself on wobbly legs, "So either I'm immune or I'm just one lucky son of a bitch."

"There is one other possibility," Lily inserted herself between the two men in an attempt to break the mounting tension before they came to blows again. "It's plausible that you are only highly resistant to the newest strain of the virus. You could still succumb to infection." She glared from Dan to Eric and back again, "Which is why we need to find Serena _and Blair_ and get the hell out of Manhattan – NOW."

"Mom," Eric began carefully, gently tugging Lily by the elbow to face him, "If you know what I think you know," he skimmed his palms up her arms to cup her face in his hands, "then you know the chances of both Serena and Blair surviving are next to non existent." Lily attempted to turn her face away from her son's, but he held her fast, "Alexei had someone in the warehouse; they knew were to find the vials and got to them before the explosions hit. There was only two- is only one left," he corrected. "I don't know how deep this goes, how many moles he has on the inside, but if he knows about Toronto or Nunavut…" He let the desperation in his voice linger between them before he continued, "We're all dead. We need to get to Nate and we need to get there yesterday."

"Nate? What does Nate have to do with any of this?"

Both mother and son ignored Dan.

"So let me get this straight," Lily placed her hands on top of Eric's, "you want me to leave my daughter – your sister – and the only confirmed cure to the deadliest virus since the bubonic plague for dead to traipse halfway across the continent with a man who more than likely will choke on his own tongue in under twelve hours?" She threw his hands from her face viciously, breath coming in enraged pants, "I don't fucking think so!"

"Jesus Christ Mom!" Eric roared. "She's dead! Serena, Blair – they're both dead! Get that through your head! I love them both just as much as you do, **more** sine I was around more than you fucking ever were!" He ran a shaky hand through sandy, unkempt hair, "Look, I get it ok? She's my sister. My _sister, _but you have to face it; if she's still alive she won't be for long." Blue eyes followed Lily as she stomped back and forth amongst the skyscraper's jagged debris, "And there is no way Blair could have survived, not with her health, not in this. You know it as well as I do."

Lily eyed Eric silently. "Nate could already be dead," she finally countered.

Sensing the shift, Eric nodded. "He wouldn't have given up the shipment; he knows what's at stake."

She paced in sock feet past a muted and confused Dan, "That wouldn't matter if Alexei has somebody buried in Nate's company like he did the warehouse."

Eric attempted to keep his breathing even as he stole a glance in Dan's direction, "That's why we're all going."

"Dan might only be resistant," Lily warned.

"He's the only chance we've got," Eric countered.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa," Dan piped up, waving away the suggestion with both hands. "No. The vial, the second vial, drag that with you incase you need to mix up more of your magic potion. I'm not leaving Serena."

Lily shook her head at Dan's statement, her eyes never leaving Eric's, "The cure can't be fabricated from synthetic antibodies. You're coming with us or I drain you of every last drop of you blood." Blue eyes slammed into brown, "Take your pick."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Yes," Arthur replied evenly, his nose an inch away from Chuck's, "as you have already stated."

"Then you're living on borrowed time," Chuck spat, his voice dangerously low, "aren't you?"

"It would seem so," Arthur agreed. "However, I feel it worth the risk to remind you of what is at stake, as you've apparently purposely mislead research on the virus for years."

Chuck's heartbeat thundered in his ears, nearly drowning out Arthur's next words.

"Unless you were able detect the antibodies in her blood without every having tested it?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Benson crouched silently behind the old Honda, watching as the goodie-two-shoes doctor lifted the whiny brat from the brunette's unconscious body.

He'd hit the dirt when he'd heard her break into hysterics; thinking she's spotted him even though he'd been careful to remain hidden since his first failed attempt to end her fucking life. He'd grabbed for the .22 at the small of his back and had been prepared to forgo the long and drawn out plans he had for the little bitch by putting one right between her eyes when the high pitched screeching had suddenly stopped.

Which brought him to now, rocks digging into his abdomen painfully as he tried unsuccessfully to figure out what the hell had just happened.

And why the hell the good doctor was standing over the bitch's body; the screaming brat in one hand, a syringe in the other, and a look etched into his features so familiar it chilled Benson to the bone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The muscled, young man knocked hesitantly at the open doorway.

"Enter."

Carter timidly entered the modest size cabin, "ETA ten minutes."

Strong arms crossed impatiently against a well muscled chest.

Carter hung his head, anticipating the wrath he was about to invoke, "Still no word, Sir."

"Fail me again Baizen…"

He held his breath as he waited for the man to finish his sentence.

"And you won't live to see the sunrise."

The younger man bobbed his head up and down quickly, reversing his steps with each jerky movement.

"I will not be denied my revenge…"

The threat followed Carter as he continued his slow backwards shuffle towards the safety of the cockpit and he silently cursing the man's flare for overdramatic violence.

"...not even for my own brother."

* * *

_A/N Confused? Good. Thoughts/questions? Drop me a line:)_

_Next installment coming up quickly, B/J and V/N are sceduled to make an appearance if all goes well. xoxo_

_Lynne_


	12. Chapter 12

_**A/N I own nothing. Not meant to be offensive. THANK YOU to my lovely reviewers; you keep me writing:)! SENSITIVE SUBJECT MATTER BELOW, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. **_

_**THANK YOU TO MY LOVELY LADIES, you know who you are;)**_

* * *

Benson had been scared all of three times in his life. The first night his worthless father had pinned him to the mattress and raped him, that split second before he'd plunged the blade into human flesh for the first time at eleven, and the endless minute before that Basstard had lit the warehouse on fire, trapping Trudy inside and engulfing her in flames. But now, watching as the doctor slung the unconscious whore over his shoulder, dragging both her and the whiny brat into the mist; he was shared shitless.

It couldn't be him. Benson had been assured by Alexei himself that Sasha had been taken care of weeks ago. He was locked in the basement of Alexei's daunting castle dungeon.

Although the mother fucker had lied to him before… and did have a certain weakness for the man whose genes were identical to his own.

But the doctor didn't look a thing like Sasha. Unless… No, he couldn't have? Not in the amount of time he'd been missing… it would take longer than that to find someone stupid enough to cross Alexei.

Except the mother fucker could have done it himself… he was obsessed enough with the bitch to do it… and just demented enough that he would alter his own face to thwart his own flesh and blood.

Only one way to be sure.

Benson checked to make sure the coast was clear. If that son of a bitch thought he was going to deny him the right to force Bass to watch his beloved bitch bleed to death like a stuck pig, he had another thing coming entirely. Rage surged through him as he stalked across the ruble to the blonde bitch the mother fucker had left lying unmoving on her back.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blair wasn't confused or muddled as to where she was when she awoke this time. No, it was the how and the why more so than the where and the when that she was stuck on. _How _the hell had she gotten to her mother's studio and _why_ the hell was she lying on top of the large table in the employee break room?

And why did her head feel like it was full of stones and her tongue made of cotton?

Ok, so maybe she was _a little_ muddled. But what else could be expected when you'd been drugged?

_Drugged?!_

Jonathan had drugged her!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Grant pulled the flimsy collar tightly against his thick neck. The blizzard was so thick in front of him that he could barely see Nate up ahead through the heavy curtain of white. And it had gotten even colder in the last hour, though he hadn't though it possible.

He'd stopped trying to get the boy to talk to him hours ago; it wasn't doing any good, Nate wasn't hearing him. And hadn't been hearing him for the entire four hours they'd been practically swimming through the waist deep snow, frozen and hungry, in a vain attempt to reach Vanessa.

He wasn't exactly sure what good starving themselves was going to do Vanessa, but as they came closer and closer to civilization he couldn't help but feel the urgency pushing Nate to go on seep into his bones as well.

Something wasn't right.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Vanessa lay curled in a tight ball against the cool kitchen floor. They'd hand picked each and every one of those tiles, her and Nate. She'd fallen in love with the idea of an eclectic jumble of colours and shapes that represented a little piece of who each of them were on their own, but blended together beautifully into one cohesive mosaic. Now, she hated the sight of them; splashed with the bright red blood of her hopes and dreams.

And only hers.

He'd never wanted the baby to begin with. He hadn't said it in so many words, but she'd never felt him press a protective palm to her growing belly or caught him staring at her in proud wonder, and he definitely hadn't looked at her with a smile on his handsome face since she'd excitedly told him the news two weeks ago.

Well he was getting his wish now? Wasn't he? Their baby was more than likely being ripped from them with every second that he wasn't here.

Fitting, since one didn't want the other and she didn't think she could live without either of them.

Which she very well might not if he didn't hurry up and get here – if he was even actually on his way.

And that was her last thought, before she slipped into unconsciousness, missing the final croak of the radio before it too fell into silent oblivion.

"_If you can still here me out there this is Pat Rogers with CKGB News Talk Radio. The CDC has cut and run; New York has been abandoned. The quarantine zone has been extended to include: … everything; all of the U.S, Mexico, and half of Canada._

_Oh, Fuck this! Nobody is fucking listening to me anyway! You're all dead! The entire goddamn United States of America is dead!_

_I don't give a damn Jimmy! NO! I'm not staying here to die! I'm getting the fuck out of here! ... Did you hear that folks? Jimmy wants me to tell you not to touch the money! BURN YOUR MONEY! It's the fucking money that's…Oh. My. God. It's all over!… Jesus Christ. It really is the end of the-"_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Fucking hypocrite," Dan hissed under his breath as the Range Rover rolled smoothly along the interstate. They'd made their way tediously through what was left of Manhattan and climbed the nearly insurmountable wall of jumbled city blocking The Queen's bridge and had been riding in silence for the past four hours.

Until now.

"Excuse me?" Eric snapped, maneuvering the large vehicle through the maze of abandoned cars.

"You fucking heard me," Dan snarled from beside him, "you fucking hypocrite. _Where's Jenny, Dan? Where's you Dad, Asshole? Maybe you should be more worried about them?_ When all the while you not only _knew_ about this entire pile of crap, but left your own mother up to her ears _alone_ in it!"

"You don't know shit," Eric spat back, his voice low enough to keep his words from waking a sleeping Lily in the back seat.

"I know enough to know you dragged me to that warehouse with the promise of buying us time to find Serena when you knew damn well we'd never find her alive," Dan countered, his voice rising purposely. "When you could have just left me…You son of a bitch!" realization had Dan shouting at the top of his lungs and lunging for the wheel. "You knew! You fucking new I was immune! That's why you dragged me with you to the god damn warehouse!"

"I only knew there was a possibility!" Eric yelled back, fighting for control of the Rover. It veered dangerously to the left, narrowly avoiding the Mac Truck stalled in the left-hand lane. "You'd been exposed for nearly seven hours when I found you and were still uninfected! I couldn't risk leaving you behind!"

"You're all the same!" Murder flashed in Dan's dark eyes, "Silver spoon mother fuckers! Thinking you're above everyone else, that your will somehow cancels out the rest of ours!" He spat in Eric's face, "I hope I do get infected and my flesh rots from my body right in front of your eyes!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blair tried to lift herself up off the table, but the room slanted dangerously to the right and her vision began to fuzz around the edges.

Shit! Footsteps! Someone was coming! Blair quickly feigned unconsciousness.

"I don't think she keeps any in the office, she doesn't ever have any need for them."

_Jenny! Jenny wasn't dead!_

"She can't be more than thirty and she certainly doesn't look pregnant to me. If anything, she's almost dangerously underweight."

_But she might as well be! Shit, shit, shit! Run Jenny! Get out of here! RUN!_

Blair silently willed her young protégé to get as far away from that psycho Jonathan as her chicken legs would carry her.

"She's neither menopausal nor pregnant, thank you very much. And she hasn't had _that_ problem since before Charlie…She's just… well, it's really not any of your business what she is, now is it Johnny?"

_Johnny!?! _

"I beg to differ Jen, and you would too if you've spent half as much time as I have trying to slap Humpty Dumpty over there back together again."

_Jen!?! _

"I wouldn't call her that to her face if you want to keep your testicles exactly where they are and not hanging from your ear lobes. I told you - you're not going to find any feminine products. Why do you even need them?

_Did little Jenny Humphrey and 'Doctor' Doom __**know**__ each other!? What the fuck was going on!?_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lily bolted upright in the backseat, "What the hell is going on here!?"

Neither man seemed to notice, but continued their dangerous fight for control over the Rover.

"Eric! Dan! God Dammit!" Lily screeched. "Stop it!"

"You aren't the only one praying that you'll choke on your own fucking tongue Humphrey!" Eric roared, ignoring his mother's order as he tired in vain to pry Dan's fingers from the steering wheel.

"I'll add you to the list asshole!" Dan stomped down hard on Eric's foot on the gas peddle. "I should have killed you when I had the chance!"

"LOOK OUT!" Lily's scream tore through the small enclosure quickly. Both men's attention jumped to the front windshield, but neither had time to react before the car wrapped itself around a tree trunk; the crunching of metal, snapping of wood, and Lily's terror filled screams melding into one deadly sound.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Carter flipped through the paperwork in his lap, confusion knitting his brow, "Sir, are you sure your man inside Bass Industries is reliable?"

Alexei motioned wordlessly for the helicopter pilot to descend below the dust hovering over Manhattan's desolate remains. "Yes."

"It's just that these reports we received seconds before the first blasts," Carter fumbled with the file in his lap, "the ones that indicate that Bass was successful in creating an antidote from Blair Waldorf's blood?"

A muscle jumped in Alexei's neck and Carter rushed on, "It's just the test subject in these reports…" He shifted away from Alexei on the small bench seat unconsciously, "Something isn't quite right."

Alexei turned black, soulless eyes on Cater.

The younger male gulped nervously, "The subject's male."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

No, something wasn't right to Grant at all. The night was entirely too quiet. He hadn't heard so much as a dog barking the entire time they'd been out here. And come to think of it, they hadn't come across one single person, hadn't even spied the faint shine of headlights off in the distance. It would all be perfectly normal if they were still in the middle of rural Ontario, but they should be able to see the bright lights of Toronto's skyline from their current position just outside city limits. But all Grant could see through the snow was a strange yellow/orange glow flickering where Nate's apartment building stood.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the below freezing temperatures pimpled Grant's flesh. The quicker he could get Nate to Vanessa and get to a phone the better. He needed to make sure Janine and the girls knew he was ok.

And let Eric know what had happened with latest shipment before an unsuspecting civilian ran across it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Black eyes narrowed to slits and Carter saw his life flash quickly before his eyes. "The subject is male," he repeated nervously, leafing frantically through the report, "but I think… yes. There are enough alleles in common with Waldorf to suggest it's a relatively close family member."

One dark eyebrow cocked dangerously.

Carter rushed on, "Grandfather, uncle, cousin, father, brother, or even a son."

An ember caught fire in the black pools of oil that were Alexei's eyes, "A son?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about, old man," Chuck snarled.

Arthur swerved to avoid colliding with an abandoned truck on the highway, but Chuck was too busy glaring daggers at the back of his head to notice the flames lapping at its half melted metal frame or the dollar bills incinerated nearly beyond recognition in the back seat.

"Unfortunately for your overly emotional involvement with the antidote and its supposed source, I do," Arthur replied evenly.

"There wasn't time," Chuck bit off, barely controlling his rage.

Arthur arched a skeptical eyebrow at Chuck through the rearview mirror.

"Turn the car around, Arthur."

"I am unable to do so, Mr. Bass."

Chuck hissed out a breath, "You know as well as I do that there is a chance that she could still be immune."

"Yes," Arthur nodded, his eyes never leaving the highway, "that is a possibility. However, even if your damsel were to share the boy's immunity I would not be able to synthesize the antidote from her blood in time to be of any use. Jeffries' earlier than postulated demise indicates that Mr. Malkov's alterations were far more potent that anyone had previously hypothesized." Light blue eyes met amber eyes alight with fire, "And though the excessive perspiration, narrowed eyelids, and increased pulse that you currently display indicate a severe aversion to even considering the possibility, the fact remains that the chance of Blair Waldorf being the immunity' source is unfavourably low. She is more than likely already infected; if she survived the initial blasts to begin with." Arthur angled his body until the two men were face to face for the first time since he injected Chuck with the paralytic nearly five hours ago, "We remain Toronto bound, Sir."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Carter nodded, confused. "It's possible it could be a child," he shuffled through the papers in his lap quickly before hesitantly continuing, "though I have no record of her giving birth." His breath caught in his throat at the look that crept into the black, soulless pits and twisted thin lips into a menacing sneer. "W-what now, Sir?" he stuttered, paper crinkling loudly in his suddenly trembling hands.

"Let Benson and Sasha bleed each other dry over the girl." A clipped chirp sounded in the cabin of the helicopter and Alexei effortlessly slid a black device from his jacket pocket before he swept a slow gaze in Carter's terrified direction, "What I want is in Toronto."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blair slowly tried to open one eye to gage her and Jenny's chances of escape, but she suddenly felt too weak to even remember her own name.

"Let's hope you don't have to find out."

_Why was she so weak? And why was she all of a sudden so hot?_

"O-Okay, Mr. Mysterious. Shouldn't she be awake by now? What did you give her anyway?"

"Just a sedative."

_So he had drugged her! _

"Well that had better be all you gave her."

"What are you, her mother?"

"She's not supposed to have anything but her pills in her system."

_Fuck! Her pills! She'd forgotten about her pills! _

"What was I supposed to do?"

"NOT drug her to high heaven?"

"She was burning up. And the kid was starting to freak out; screaming herself hoarse like that and accusing me of being 'in on it'. Can you believe she didn't buy my doctor do good routine?"

_Where was Zach? Jesus Christ! And SERENA! What had they done with Serena and Zach!?_

"Well she isn't all wrong, now is she?"

Blair didn't have time to think anything else; the terrified screaming she hadn't been aware was her own intensifying as she felt the quick prick of a needle in her arm before her world once again went black.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Fuck, shit, piss. He glared at the neat rows of tiny x's lining the blonde bitch's throat. They were identical to the hundreds of stitches Alexei's brother had sewn into Benson's very flesh.

FUCK.

_Sasha._

He yanked his cell phone from his pocket, turning it on quickly and dialing a number he new by heart.

"It's me. We have a problem. Sasha has the girl."

* * *

A/N - Spelling mistakes are frequent and my own. lol.

I am trying out my 'Mahogany' next, yes. Thank you for being patient with me! :)

Lynne


	13. Chapter 13

_**A/N Same as always. GRAPHIC MATERIAL FOLLOWS. THANK YOU to those of you who have been sticking it out with me and reading & reviewing. It was extremely motivating with everything going on this past week! xoxo And a very special thank you to my girls Katy and Court. **_

_**Dedicated to Red. [Don't worry, Red, the Maho you requested is coming up too:)]**_

* * *

Chuck had never enjoyed traveling in the back seat of mere cars; they were fucking uncomfortable and reminded him a little too clearly of just how similar his father's roots had been to the vehicle's own lowbrow existence.

No. Chuck Bass preferred to have his ass firmly planted on the Italian, butter soft leather of his stretch limo rather than riding in the back seat of beat up station wagon immersed in stony silence.

Or at least he had preferred the limo up until his father's acci…Bart's death. He hadn't put one designer dress shoe in a limo since.

Not until three months ago.

Not until Paris.

Chuck fingered the soft wool he held delicately in his hands. Normally he caught his hand drifting without permission to his jacket pocket more times than there were minutes in the day, but hadn't even thought about the tiny garment she'd left in Paris, or the antique piece of jewelry that he hadn't gotten around to giving her, since before Jeffries' had gone and gotten himself infected. Why he'd even held onto the band of precious metal and rare stones; Chuck wasn't sure. It only served to remind him of a woman he had no memory of, could have no memory of; she'd died giving birth to him, but he held onto it just the same.

At first he'd hid it in the top drawer of the desk in his office beside that picture of the three of them on her eighteenth birthday he pretended didn't exist, but when the picture had vanished inexplicably, he'd shoved the ring to the back of his nightstand drawer instead. Where it had stayed until it made its way into his pocket sometime after Paris almost of its own volition.

He could have had the tiny wool thing sent back to her; it was probably the only thing Eleanor hadn't destroyed after his…death, but they'd silently agreed that Paris didn't exist; it hadn't happened. It didn't fucking matter.

Just like their first torrid encounter in the back of a limousine was meaningless and hadn't happened. Although that had become increasingly harder to stick to as the months had worn on and the evidence to the contrary grew.

There was no chance of _that_ this time around.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blair's first thought wasn't how fed up she was with waking up flat on her back (even though if her life was a novel or a movie it would be the most over used plot device in history; fainting, losing consciousness, being drugged – really, how many times before it got old?) nor was it fear for her own safety. It had nothing to do with the mother she didn't know whether was alive or dead or of the woman who had been more family to her than all of her entire blood relatives combined. It wasn't even that the man who'd been hauling her around Manhattan like a rag doll, the man whose presence she was currently helplessly in, was most likely Doctor Death himself.

No, her first thought was that she had to pee. And badly.

"We're almost across; it shouldn't be too much longer. Just hang in there, B."

Oh, and that Jenny Humphrey bit the big one.

Blair glared up at Jenny from her half slumped position at the front of as far as what she could tell was a small boat. Well, it was a boat in as much as it floated and had a motor. Other than that, Blair failed to see any resemblance; it was _tin_ for God's sake.

The frigid air slapped the exposed skin of her neck and it was then she realized that her clothes had been changed.

"I didn't let Jonathan watch me change you, if you're worried."

Jenny's long hair was piled in a haphazard bun atop her head, her clothes were tattered, and dark smudges of soot peppered her normally flawless skin.

At least Blair thought it was soot, Jenny refused to stay in focus long enough for her to tell.

"Why you fuzzy, Jenny?" The question came out slurred and in somebody else's voice. Which led Blair to wonder if she had somebody else's voice, who had hers? Maybe it was an elephant trainer. Wouldn't that be fun? Charlie had always loved elephants.

"Blair?"

Jenny had Jenny's voice, so why didn't Blair have Blair's?

Oh, that's right. The drugging, Dr. Johnny-boy's little needle prick. Blair giggled to herself. No, the big prick's little prick.

He probably did have a little prick, the big prick.

Now Blair was confused. Was he a big prick or a little prick?

"Blair? Can you hear me?"

Of course Blair could hear Jenny. She wasn't deaf. Just drugged up. God was Jenny a blonde.

Like Serena! Serena was a blonde too.

Serena. There was something about Serena that Blair was supposed to ask Jenny. Or was it Johnny?

Jenny and Johnny. How trite. And utterly cliché. Good thing they weren't twins. That would just be mean. Parents who named their twins rhyming names or names that started with the same letter – huh, or BOTH like Jen/Johnny – should be hauled off in paddy wagons.

Did they still have paddy wagons?

Blair shrugged. No matter, she would never be hauled off in one if they did. She'd never name twins cutesy rhymey names. Probably because she was baron – 0.00005% fertility wasn't enough of a percentage for Blair to bothering adding 'practically' to the word, not even for Drugged-up!Blair apparently – and would never have twins.

Not that it mattered, they didn't want her and she didn't want them.

"Blair? Sweetie, if you can hear me answer me. Johnny, I told you she needed her pills!"

Oh, her pills. Blair hated her pills. They made her feel all sluggish and bitchy.

Ok, _more_ bitchy. But that wasn't what bothered her. Bitchy she was used to, bitchy she was comfortable with. She'd been bitchy before she'd been anything else. Since she was…seven. Yes, ever since seven.

Well, except for those two months at seventeen after Chuck had finally given her his answer. But she'd been extra bitchy for the month before those two months so that more than made up for it, right?

What was that saying Serena was always saying back then? Something about pregnant woman being allowed to be bitchy? Or was it horny? Blair couldn't remember. She'd have to ask Serena later.

Oh, there was that funny feeling again. Something about Serena… And pregnant women?

No, that wasn't it.

Jen/Johnny! Something about Serena and Johnny.

But what?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

12:01 a.m. Fuck, that bastard Alexei didn't stand for tardiness.

Benson slipped the device from his pocket and quickly typed out his check in message.

_**On schedule. Leaving sector nine. Bass unaccounted for. Virus leak still undetermined. **_

He hit the send button, a sneer twisting his thin lips as his eyes slid to the seat beside him and the unconscious blonde's naked tits. Even circling the drain she was one stacked bitch. He couldn't wait to hack them off her.

"And the Waldorf Bitch is mine too, Alexei, you son of a whore."

Benson adjusted a lever and the helicopter rose higher into the night sky so as not to alert his prey in the waters below to his presence.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Arthur weaved dangerously through the maze that was the 400 series highway, abandoned and charred vehicles littering the blacktop as heavy snowflakes began to fall, making Chuck think of another sinister black vehicle; one that, if Arthur was right, Blair would never get to ride in.

He shoved wool and metal into his pocket angrily. What did it fucking matter if she was dead anyway? So he'd fooled a seventeen year old version of himself into believing he'd been in love with her. So what? It hadn't been real. _They _were a mistake, an aberration of nature; she'd always been meant for her fucking Prince Charming. She didn't matter to Chuck; there wasn't anything holding _them_ together anymore. She could be feverish and _dying_ and it wouldn't bother him. She could even be at the mercy of one Alexei's shit for brains henchmen right now and he wouldn't give a fuck, not if she wasn't the cure. She'd been dead to him for years.

Hadn't she?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"B, you have to keep your eyes open for me. OK?"

Open? Her eyes _were_ open. Stupid Jenny. It was a good thing she was pretty –well, pretty _enough_– or else she'd have _nothing_ going for her.

"You have to keep your eyes open until we can get you more of your pills. Don't close your eyes. She needs her pills!!"

Blah, there were those damn pills again. Those stupid, little blue pills of groggy bitchiness.

Wait, what was wrong with the pills she still had? Why did she need **more**?

Oh, yes. She didn't have her pills because they were on a 'boat', which come to think of it, explained her queasy stomach, the rumbling in her ears, and the oar digging into her ass.

"Can't you make this thing go any faster!?"

But not how the oar got stuck _up_ Jenny's ass.

"Hang on sweetie, we're almost there. We're almost there. Just hang on."

Or why the hell she was being so damn nice to her. She'd changed her into warmer clothes, was worried about getting her her pills, and Blair was pretty sure she vaguely remembered her spoon feeding her pea soup. Although the pea soup being a gesture of kindness was debatable.

Why _was_ J Hump being so nice to her? Wasn't she supposed to be the big bad?

Huh, the big bad? Where had that come from?

Blair stumbled to her feet; the haziness enveloping her clearling slightly as the distinct sound of a splash echoed in the deathly quiet night.

What was that splash?

Blair lurched sideways as the tiny tin motorboat suddenly shot forward, picking up speed and quickly putting distance between whatever it was they'd thrown overboard behind.

"B, you need to sit down. You shouldn't be standing. Sit down Blair, Serena wouldn't want you doing this to yourself. Jesus, she's burning up!!"

Serena. A tiny memory elbowed its way through the fog in Blair's brain. Serena!!

Blair's heart stopped beating as she stared past the man who had more than likely murdered her best friend and into the dark water. Though there wasn't a star in the moonless sky, the burlap sack stood out against the black waves.

And was sinking fast.

SERENA!

Without a second thought Blair clumsily flung her weight over the side of the tiny boat, the ice cold darkness immediately swallowing her whole.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Arthur swerved again and Chuck was saved from answering his own question as the small station wagon narrowly missed colliding with the fender of a red pickup truck.

"Jesus Fuck, Old Man!" Chuck boomed, the anger that had boiled up inside him as they silently made their way north cracked in the air between the two men. "Keep your God damn eyes on the road!"

White hair still immaculately in place, Arthur glanced over his shoulder pointedly; "Would you care to navigate the vehicle instead, Sir?"

Chuck's nostrils flared; though the paralytic had begun to ware off, he was still paralyzed from the waist down.

Might forever be paralyzed from the waist down.

Chuck balled his fists, resisting the urge to snap Arthur's neck, but was thrown violently the floorboards before he could act out his murderous thoughts. "What the hell!?"

Arthur's pinched face appeared over Chuck's awkward form through the open back door of the wagon. "I apologize, Sir. However, the abrupt halt was unavoidable. We have arrived."

Arrived? They weren't at the Bass Industries warehouse. They couldn't even be at Archibald's fucking shipping yard/private airport; they had just left the fucking 401!

With help from Arthur, Chuck dragged himself from the back seat of the car. He tumbled painfully to the ground, his forehead scrapping against cold pavement. Dollar bills stuck to his bloody, unmasked face and he wiped them away without a thought as to why they carpeted the highway, too intent on unmasking their location.

Sweat beaded just above the gauge on Chuck's forehead, his pulse raced in his ears. Arthur hadn't been entirely truthful; they hadn't 'arrived' as much as been stopped by the thousands of corpses lying half rotten before them, littering the streets for miles.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Black surrounded Blair; its many hands tugging on her too-big sweatshirt and jeans, pulling her down into the belly of the beast.

Serena was drowning! She needed to find her!

She blinked frantically, trying to pry the dark hands from her eyes, but they held fast. She couldn't see anything; she couldn't see Serena!

Pain ripped through her as she fumbled blindly in search of her friend; her injuries irate over being forgotten, her battered body incensed with being subjected to the thousands of cold, jagged knives kissing her flesh. Her lungs burned painfully with the need for oxygen. If she didn't find Serena soon they would both succumb to the watery grave.

Something slithered against Blair's bare foot.

No! Not slithered, wrapped! And not against, around!

Something was wrapped around her ankle!

She tried to kick herself loose, but the movement only seemed to tighten the thing's hold on her, dragging her further and further away from the surface and usable oxygen. She clamped her jaw shut against the urge to cry out, and visualized taking deep slow breaths to stop her lungs from constricting painfully in her chest. Pushing thoughts of slimy sea creatures from her mind and gathering her courage, Blair reached down to free herself from her slimy shackle and her fingers came into contact with what felt like twine.

The sack! The burlap sack was the slimy sea creature trying to drown her!

Serena!

Blair half yanked, half pulled at the twine around her ankle, but the haze invading her mind refused to relinquish its hold and her limbs refused to work, remaining uselessly still.

No! NO!

And this time she did scream, the liquid ice pulling her last breaths from her with its gnarled black fingers.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Sir?" Carter held the satellite phone out for Alexei to take.

Slender fingers drummed impatiently against a muscular thigh.

"Benson's check in, Mr. Malkov," Carter elaborated, beginning to feel ridiculous with his hand extended in the air between them.

Alexei slowly turned his head, black pools of oil void of expression.

"Uh…" Carter stuttered bowing his head to break eye contact; the man's eyes could set you on edge alone. "He's on schedule. Nothing new to report."

"Sasha?"

Carter jumper nervously at the man's name and the device slipped from his fingers to the floor of the helicopter.

"No word," Carter replied, attempting to keep his voice even. Alexei could smell fear.

"I am growing impatient with you, Carter."

Carter paled. The last time Alexei had grown impatient with someone his head had turned up skewered on a spear on the front law of the complex. "We'll find him soon; he can't hide for much longer."

"For your sake you had better hope 'soon'…"

The younger man gulped; anticipating Alexei's threat as he spotted the telltale point of the CN tower through the helicopter window.

…is before we reach Toronto."

* * *

A/N I'll be out of town for the rest of the week for a funeral. I'll try to update as quickly and as frequently as possible, but I'm just not sure when that will be.  
(Was it ALMOST like CB had an interaction? lol. They will have face to face scenes, I promise. And the action is about to pick up for EVERYONE.)

Lynne


	14. Chapter 14

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**_

_**A/N I am deeply sorry that this took me SO long to update. I haven't abandoned it and am actively working on the next update. Thank you to my wifey, Court. And Beth, who asked so nicely when I was updating. **_

_**Also, mature subjects follow. WARNING: Character deaths bellow. (*ducks tomatoes*)**_ _Please take a minute to leave me your thoughts, reviews are food for the soul. _

* * *

Eric blinked at the scene before him, but the grizzly picture wasn't splashed across a television screen or stretched to fit a wide theater; it was real, a gory landscape brought to life.

It reminded him of the time when he'd been six. Riding in the back seat of his grandmother's old Camaro with his hands over his eyes and his jaw unhinged with terror as she peeled into oncoming traffic to chase down the liquor that has mysteriously escaped from her now empty bottle of gin.

His little fingers hadn't been enough to shield his wide eyes from the flash of pink or the splatter of red that had followed. He'd starred, with his six year old mind reeling and in awe of the head shaped stain on the once see through surface, as the woman had slid like a not quite cooked noodle down a wall until she'd landed with a thud on the hood of what his mother had always called 'the old beast'.

He'd learned much later it had been his grandmother and not the car that his mother has bestowed the moniker upon, but that fact didn't change the memory of the sound of her limp body collapsing on the hood of the car. It wouldn't change the fact that his mother was now the woman lying limp on the hood on an old beast, her head twisted at an impossible angle, her eyes staring vacant into his.

It wouldn't change the fact that Lily van der Woodsen Bass was dead.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nate could feel the worry leeching from Grant's body behind him.

He knew that he should rest, that he should eat something before he passed out from starvation as well as from hypothermia.

He just didn't give a flying fuck. None of it mattered. Nothing but getting to Vanessa mattered.

Not even his own health.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

His mother. Lily. Mrs. Bass. The woman who had given him life… no longer had her own.

Her blonde hair fell in bloody clumps against what had once been the Rover's front right head light. Her left leg - bone protruding through her grey slacks, hung twisted and smashed. The toe of her black boot pointed 180 degrees from where it normally did, from where it should. Dark blood slicked the white vehicle, shrouding it in a macabre red he remembered all to well through the eyes of his six year old self.

But this time his mother wouldn't be there to wake him from the nightmares that were sure to come. This time, he knew all too well that she wouldn't stroke his sweat slicked hair from his face, assuring him it was all just a dream.

Because she was dead. And it wasn't.

_None_ of it was a dream. The attacks, the virus. The fact that he'd abandoned his sister and a woman he'd known since birth, a woman he considered to be every bit a part of his family as he himself was, leaving them behind in the desolate remains of a city rife with a disease that would claim their lives and melt their flesh from their bones.

Eric felt the cool night air whisper against the exposed skin of his neck.

It was nearing one in the morning and he'd been sitting exactly where he had been since he'd regained consciousness nearly an hour ago. How he'd been thrown through the Rover's windshield to the safety of a thick patch of grass while his mother had taken the same route only to meet her end against the thick trunk of the tree that the once pristine vehicle had wrapped itself around, he wasn't sure. But she had and he was unable to tear his eyes from the gruesome sight of it.

He hadn't even looked to see whether or not Dan was alive. He'd just been sitting on the grass. In a puddle of his own blood. Staring at his lifeless mother. He guessed he should check on the man his sister claimed was the love of her life, though he wasn't really sure if it was because of his guilt over having left her behind that he felt the need or because the key to this mess, and to the nightmare he'd been living in ever since the first explosion had rocked the Upper East Side potentially coursed through his veins.

As he rose to his feet, numb from the cold and the loss of his mother - and quite possibly the last remaining member of his family, and stumbled toward the mangled wreckage that was to be his mother's coffin, the thought struck him that it was more than likely the former.

The son of a bitch was alive, just barely, but alive none the less and it wasn't relief that flooded Eric. His mother died while Humphrey lived. Serena and Blair died while Humphrey lived. And for all Eric knew Chuck could be dead while the fucking scum pinned against the dashboard was _still_ alive.

If he didn't possibly need the mother fucker's blood he'd slit his throat himself…

A thought dawned on Eric as he watched the faint pulse flutter in Dan's neck.

…but that was just it, wasn't it? He didn't need him alive.

He only needed his blood.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nate's boot caught in a thick drift of snow and Grant swore. If the lad kept going at it the way he was, with no water and no food in him since they'd left the squat, antique farmhouse, he wouldn't make it back to Vanessa in one piece.

The wind seemed to change as they neared Richmond Hill and the icy breeze sent shivers down Grant's back. He pulled the flimsy, too-small coat closer to his large frame.

The two men had passed through York without uttering one word to each other. It unnerved Grant. They'd only ever once made the flight north with out muttering a few words about something one of the 'womenfolk'(as they liked to refer to their respective better halves when said better halves weren't around) had said or done the night before. They would normally chat about Grant's girls, his Janine, or Nate's V, only falling into comfortable silences when one man would get lost in his own thoughts. They'd never gone more than a few hours without Nate laughing to himself as he texted his fiancé or sending Grant that slow smile that normally meant he had all things Vanessa on the brain.

It wasn't like Nate at all; the eerie silence he'd wrapped himself in. Or the fact that he'd been to tangled in his own destructive thoughts to notice that the power appeared to be out for kilometers.

Admittedly, the boy could take his sweet time in noticing certain things, but flying with Grant over the past four years, and knowing him for much longer, had taught Nate to always be aware of his surroundings. You never knew what danger lurked beyond the next hill.

Nate stumbled again, and Grant resisted the urge to close the gap between them and heft him over his shoulder but as the wind picked up and the faint scent of what Grant hoped to God wasn't what he thought it was pushed its way into his nostrils, the ex-military man couldn't resist the urge to swoop in and play solider any longer.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blood trickled from the gash on Chuck's forehead, stinging his eyes, but he didn't lift a hand to smear it away. He barely even felt the hot drop as it painted his iris red. He was too absorbed by the wall of bodies before him.

"Arthur," Chuck's voice was lower than Arthur had ever heard it, "get me back into the wagon."

Arthur frowned at his younger boss's words. "Sir?"

The older man's confusion only served to sharpen Chuck's tone. He didn't have time for incompetence. "NOW," he growled, air billowing from his mouth and nose in moist clouds.

Arthur's puzzled expression remained, though he bent to help Chuck into a sitting position against the back wheel of the wagon.

"Sir," employee addressed employer, "I believe your history has proven that you are not at your soundest of mind when the girl and your s…" Arthur trailed off at the dark look Chuck shot him from the ground. "…the boy…" Arthur supplied instead, "…are involved. I think it best I approve our next course of action."

Chuck's jaw cracked as his molars ground against each other. "Oh, is that so?" he spat.

"Yes, Mr. Bass. I believe it to be so."

If Chuck had the use of his legs he would have leapt to his feet and strangled the man right then and there. It was bad enough the old bastard had had more than a helping hand in the creation and engineering of the virus, but the fact that he remained so smug and self righteous, even after everything he'd done…

A tingling sensation in Chuck's lower back cut through his thoughts, bringing them to a shuttering halt. Arthur noticed the change in his facial expression immediately. "Perhaps we shouldn't move you at all, Sir." What passed for concern on Arthur's face was present in the slight curve of his brow. "If feeling is indeed returning to your lower extremities," he cautioned, "it could be detrimental to your recovery's progression if you over exert yourself physically."

Chuck inwardly fumed at the man's hawk like attention. Arthur never stopped observing him or cataloguing his every action for a nanosecond. Chuck was pretty sure that the son of a bitch would know if he had to shit before he did.

"Archibald's private airfield is less than a mile outside the city, is it not?" Chuck demanded, ignoring the disapproving look Arthur shot him as he resumed his efforts to haul himself into the open backseat.

A dollar bill that had gone unnoticed dislodged itself from the gash at Chuck's forehead and slid down the open neck of his tattered dress shirt.

"A mile north of the city, Sir," Arthur provided in his customary monotone. "We are approaching from the south. That would require-"

"Yes," Chuck ground out, cutting him off, "I know my fucking directions, Old Man." He dragged in a breath, steadying his rising blood pressure and attempting to calm the nerves that were racing from anticipation at the prospect of regaining his legs.

"-traveling through the city," Arthur continued regardless of Chuck's warning glare to do otherwise. He glanced briefly over his shoulder at the exact moment that the stench of decaying flesh mixed with something that Chuck couldn't quite place reached his nostrils. "The city is impassible," Arthur said evenly. "Our current transportation can not sustain the damage traveling over that many …" Chuck startled at the hesitation in the older man's voice, "…corpses. None of the vehicles currently surrounding us appear to be able to sustain the voyage."

Chuck tried once more to push himself from his sitting position into the back of the station wagon, ignoring Arthur's evaluation of their situation, and cried out in pain as his ankle clipped the open door.

Arthur's eyebrows rose into his hairline.

Chuck stopped breathing.

He had feeling in his ankle.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Glass shard in hand, Eric stood transfixed by the slow ripple of movement just beneath the skin of Dan's neck. His thoughts swirled in every direction. Was he really going to do this? Did he really have a choice? Was there even anyone left to save? Could he take that chance?

Even as his thoughts warred with one another, his hand slowly rose to drag the sharp piece of glass across the other man's neck. It bit into his flesh viciously, tearing an angry wound just below his right ear. Blood seeped freely from Dan's neck and Eric panicked as the realization hit him.

He'd just slit Daniel Humphrey's throat. His sister's long time boyfriend, the man whose children she'd wanted to someday bear, the man who she considered to be partner, her other half, her life. And it wasn't remorse or even regret that burned in the pit of his belly as he watched, disjointed as his hands fumbled for something to catch the thick liquid that was now leaping from Dan's neck in quick spurts.

No. It was relief. Relief laced with the tiniest hint of fear.

Eric's hands uselessly empty; he pressed his lips against Dan's neck in a gesture that felt oddly soothing as his sister's lips had most likely found this exact spot at some point over her ten years spent beside him. If it weren't for the slow trickle of fear snaking around Eric's heart for the man he was becoming, the man he'd tried and had failed to prevent his step brother from becoming, it would have brought him peace.

His lips kissing a long ago faded imprint of his sister's lips, the taste of metallic filling his mouth, Eric couldn't help but feel that Dan's last breath was also Serena's last goodbye.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Grant overtook Nate in two strides and had him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry reminiscent of how he'd carried Nate's limp form across the empty field to the old farmhouse nearly five hours ago.

Then, the younger man had been unconscious and clinging to life by the skin of his teeth. Now, he was using every last ounce of energy he had in his attempts to bring them both crashing to the ground.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!?"

Grant jostled Nate over his shoulder until Nate's hip no longer dug painfully into his collar bone. Nate tried to flail his legs once more, but Grant held them fast against his chest.

"Dammit, Grant! Put me DOWN!"

Grant only shook his head. He'd tried to talk sense into the boy and when that hadn't worked he'd even let him slug him one. Neither words nor fists had been able to crack their way through the wall of grief and rage Nate had erected around him and Grant was left with no other choice but to use force.

He loved the young couple like they were blood and it would corrode a little piece of his soul if Grant had to watch Vanessa grief for the father of her child as well as the tiny life they'd lost.

Nate struggled against Grant's firm grip again but the adrenaline he'd been subsiding on for the past few hours was wearing thin and his efforts lacked the necessary bite. Although even at full strength, Grant's thick arms and strong hands would have held him firm. There was no way he was going to let Nathaniel Fitzwilliam Archibald careen down the same dangerous slope his father had.

And Grant would have opened his mouth to tell the man he considered to be his family just that had the wind not shifted once more and the stench of rotting flesh and burning embers not become undeniably present in the frigid night air.

Something was dead in the dark surrounding them. A lot of 'somethings' judging by the putrid odor. And if his earlier suspicions were right and the strange yellow/orange flicker looming in the distance on the other side of the city was where Nate's Toronto apartment stood … Grant just might need more than a fireman's carry to keep the lad's demons from eating him alive.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Vanessa could smell smoke, but she hadn't been feeling all that well this last week of her pregnancy and she had finally found a comfortable spot on their old mattress. She didn't want to climb out of bed to investigate.

Fitz was probably just burning eggs again, anyway.

The thought of burnt eggs rolled her queasy stomach and she breathed deeply to soothe it, but the nausea refused to be kept at bay. She bolted upright in bed, preparing to lunge for the bathroom as was her morning ritual as of late, but when her eyes flew open they didn't land on anything even remotely familiar. Not Jake curled in a ball at the end of their cozy bed, not the afghan her mother had crocheted as an engagement gift hanging over the back of their warn love seat, and not the colourful mosaic of tiles her and Fitz had lovingly picked out by hand and individually placed on the floor in the kitchen. All she registered was smoke. Though she was pretty sure she was supposed to see the tiles, but wasn't exactly sure why.

Her last thought before she again drifted into smoky unconsciousness was that it was probably because carbon monoxide poisoning supposedly made you a little loopy.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Arthur stood motionless staring down at Chuck. The young tycoon's upper body was sprawled half in-half out of the car's back seat and his eyes were riveted on his ankle.

"Sir?"

Chuck looked to have barely heard him, if at all. His eyes remained unblinking, wide with a barely discernable hope.

"Sir?" Arthur's insistent tone ringing in Chuck's ears reminded him to breath. He opened his mouth to respond, but was unable to push any sound past his lips.

Chuck had felt the quick pinch of pain, he knew he had. He hadn't imagined it. But then the tingling had overtaken the fleeting sensation and he was once more left numb from the waist down.

"Mr. Bass?" Chuck finally dragged his eyes to Arthur's. "It is imperative that you inform me of any change in your condition at once. If you have regained feeling within your lower extremities, even for the slightest of moments, it is important that we take action immediately."

Chuck watched as Arthur carefully bent to probe his outstretched legs. He shook his head when Arthur raised an eyebrow in a silent question. "It's gone now," he said, his tone flat.

Arthur moved to gingerly aid the younger man into the back of the wagon. "We need to make our way to the nearest medical facility." Hands gnarled by harsh years carefully guided Chuck's movements. "Please take care not to jostle or rotate your spine," Arthur's chastised as Chuck removed the man's hands from his shoulders with more force than necessary. "I realize this ordeal has not been the most pleasant of experiences; however-"

Chuck shook his head emphatically. "This changes nothing," he growled. The grey haired man opened his mouth to interject, but Chuck merely shouted over him. "NO! Antidote! NOW! Nothing else matters! Isn't that what you said?" Dark brown eyes pinned Arthur with a pointed look. Tension cracked in the air as both men glared at each other.

Arthur hesitated with his gnarled hand on the door frame and Chuck willed him for once to just shut the hell up and not voice his every God damn opinion. He didn't want to hear about how they would never make it to Nathaniel's airfield, he didn't care to be told one more fucking time that everyone he'd ever come into contact with was rotting into a puddle of goo like the bastards that littered the highway and blocked their path. And he sure as hell didn't want to be poked and prodded like some fucking lab rat. They needed to get to the stock pile of Eric's antidote and get the hell out of…

Canada? North America? How far had this thing spread? How far was that asshole Alexei's reach?

Chuck dragged his attention to the small hill of decaying men, women… and children backlight by a strange orange glow before them.

He'd had a hand in that, in their death. First Charlie, then Bart; the blood on his hands could drown world ten times over.

If it hadn't already.

"Sir?" Arthur's dull drone attempted to claim Chuck's attention, but he kept his gaze firmly riveted beyond the windshield. "Sir?"

"FUCK!" Chuck roared, whipping his head around to face Arthur. The slow tingle started down his spine until it reached his knees, but he was too shocked by the sight facing him to register it.

There, standing beside Arthur and covered nearly head to toe in blood with crimson trickling down the corners of his mouth, was Eric.

* * *

_A/N - Yes. I killed Lily. Some of you may be upset by this in light of last night's episode, and I was trying to update before she (somewhat) redeemed herself, but it just didn't want to cooperate. And, oh, yea. Dan's dead too. Sorry about that._***CHUCK AND BLAIR WILL BE IN THE SAME SCENE NEXT CHAPTER***_ Lynne promises. _

_I am working on Mahogany next, Eve. Don't get your panties in a bunch, love. _

_Lynne_


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Not intended to be offensive. ** Apparently this is considered DARK. You have been warned... 15 chapters in, but warned none the less**

**A/N** - I'm working mainly on this and 'Darkling' at the moment. Mahogany isn't over, it's just been momentarily pushed to the back burner. It WILL be back :). I apologize if you took issue with either Lily or Dan's death; however, it's to be expected with the nature of this story. THANK YOU to everyone who's stuck with me this far and to everyone who has been reviewing. You've helped me trudge on. Keep it up;)  


* * *

_Blair's new designer heel caught between two cobblestones, something that Jenny had warned Blair would happen as she eyed them longingly through the front window of the little Parisian boutique. She twisted and pulled her foot madly, but that only served to anger the stones and they tightened their grip on the red leather pump. With a huff of defeat Blair unloaded her plethora of shopping bags onto an unsuspecting passerby and bent to see to her imprisoned shoe. Her rump greeted the steady flow of traffic behind her."Merci," Blair thanked the passerby, though the poor man was glowering at her. "C'est mon espadrille," she explained, undermining his anger with a flirtatious bat of her eyelashes as she explained her predicament._

_The young gentleman quickly smiled and nodded his head, rattling of a succession of quick fire French that Blair's seasoned ears understood immediately. But before she could decline his invitation to dinner and dancing, an odd thing happened. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and her heartbeat began to pound in her ears. At first, she thought it was the beginnings of a panic attack. One she hadn't experience in over eight years - since that last time she'd run into him, but he wasn't anywhere near-_

"_Non, merci Monsieur. Mademoiselle est occupée ce soir." _

_And then she did slip into a full blown panic attack as the words rushed from behind her to inform her bogged down helper that she was otherwise engaged this evening. No matter how far down she pushed all matters pertaining to him into her subconscious, she'd recognize that voice anywhere. Even after eight years. _

_She nearly passed out then and there but somehow managed to retain what little of her dignity hadn't abandoned her already. "Non, merci," she offered her helper weakly, smiling as best she could to soften the blow of rejection, though she was pretty sure it came out as a grimace. Concern etched itself across his features and he stepped closure to her. _

"_Back up, kid." And the young man's progression halted immediately, a terror stricken look replacing the one of concern in his eyes. It would have comforted Blair to know that some things never changed and that he was still instilling fear in the masses with a simple look if he hadn't done the same thing to her with a few simple words. And if her heart was galloping in her ears and she wasn't bent over at the waist gasping for breath. _

_Blair wasn't quite sure what happened next, her vision had begun to spot from lack of oxygen, but she'd ended up lying flat on her back on the bench seat in the back of his limo. And she was pretty sure he hadn't carried her there himself, though he did look uncharacteristically concerned from his stoic perch. _

_Or at least he had, right up until the point when she'd raised her hand to fiddle with her necklace - a nervous habit he recognized well, having seen her do it on more than once occasion. _

_Her hand burned under his scrutiny, but he didn't say a word. He just glared across the small enclosure as she fingered the delicate chain and the tiny ring she'd looped it through. She glared back, her pulse beginning to recover from his sudden appearance as the familiar hatred flowed freely in her veins. _

_This she was comfortable with, this she could do. She'd been hating him for years._

_But she couldn't force her jaw to unclench and spit words meant to wound at him. And she didn't have to, because his mouth was on hers then, bruising her with his forcefulness. She knew that if she looked in the mirror after what ever this was was over her lips would be red and swollen. _

_But she wouldn't be looking in the mirror. Probably not for days. She'd ignore the bruises his harsh hands were leaving on her hips as he rammed himself inside her; ignore the tenderness between her legs that was bound to linger for days, reminding her though she wanted to do anything but remember. She'd be able to push this chance encounter into the box labeled mistake that she'd shoved the rest of her memories of him into as long as her scalp stung from his harsh tugs and blood from the cut she'd bit at his lip left its metallic taste in her mouth._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Eric!?" The word burst from Chuck's mouth coated in disbelief. Arthur slowly stepped from the open door to allow Chuck to fully take in his brother. The blonde man was draped in blood. It caked his hair, ran from his nostrils and ears, and trickled from the corners of his lips. "Jesus, Eric. What happened? Where's Lil? Did you find the girls? Are you ok? What happened?"

Eric ignored Chuck's succession of quick fire questions and lurched forward towards his brothers' feet. Chuck started, his legs jumping up onto the seat beside him, but he barely registered the movement as the blonde man groped widely for the bottles of water on the floor of the wagon. Eric's fingers finally finding plastic, he surged from the vehicle, gagging noises vibrating in the cold air around them, and twisted the cap off the bottle quickly to dump the water on the pavement. He brought his lips to the bottle's opening and began spitting what looked like blood into it.

"Christ! What the fuck are you doing?" Eric disregarded Chuck's question and Arthur's searching gaze as he pulled another bottle from the back seat and rinsed his mouth until the liquid he spat on the ground no longer had a red tinge to it.

"Humphrey's blood," he explained through his heavy pants. "He's dead. I killed him."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was like Blair was back in the limo again. But it wasn't soft leather cradling her back and harsh hands weren't singeing her with their heat. There was no heat at all. Only ice. But the same darkness surrounded her, blinded her now as it had then.

If this was the end she was glad it was ending like this. She'd heard stories of white lights and angels and your life flashing before your eyes. She much preferred the darkness. She didn't want to see snippets of her eighteen year-old self; happy and deluded and more than likely in _love._

Blair laughed at that, a lone bubble of air escaping her lungs. Love. Had she really been in love with him? Or had it merely been a passing fancy. Her dalliance with the devil. If she was being honest, and now seemed like as good a time as any to start, she guessed…

But the thought never had a chance to fully form as Jonathan's strong hands – though how she knew them to be his through the blackness and her own fuzzy haze, she chose to ignore – clamed around her upper arm. Heat from his touch surged through her, burning her frozen spine and melting the icicles in her veins.

He dragged her to the surface in what seemed like slow motion. Blair was vaguely aware that she'd almost drowned. And that she had more than likely swallowed her fair share of… whatever body of whatever this was. But her sluggish brain wouldn't allow her to focus on anything but her Parisian passerby for more than ten seconds at a time.

She wondered what had ever happened to the man. Or to the Monolo's she'd unceremoniously foisted upon him. She'd never gotten to wear those boots after all. She guessed they would be coming into season in New York in a few weeks. Manhattan was always a few months behind Paris in the trends. It's why they even bothered to make the hop across the pond.

"Jenny!" Jonathan's voice burst into the cold night air as their heads surged to the surface. "JENNY!" Blair registered the feeble puttering of what she remembered was a boat. And something louder. Something that reminded her of tarmacs and helicopters. "God dammit Jenny! Over here!" Blair didn't blame the woman for not being able to pick them out amongst the dark waves; if she hadn't felt the chilly breeze of freedom sting her cheeks and wasn't coughing up the gallons of water she'd chocked down, she wouldn't have known they'd breached the surface either.

"Over _where_ Sasha! DAMMIT!"

Blair was too preoccupied with trying to remember if she'd gone with the brown suede, or the black leather Manolo's to catch her rescuers apparent second name from somewhere in the distance, but the loud rumble against her back that was his response stole her attention.

"Just use the fucking flashlight!"

Leave it to little Jenny Humphrey to screw up something as easy as turning on a flashlight in the dark. Honestly, it was a wonder she'd even been accepted into that prestigious European design school.

"He'll see us!"

Well yes, Blair though, wasn't that the point of shedding a little light on the situation? She was freezing her ass off waiting for the blonde to defy her hair colour and actually _think_ for once.

"We've got no choice, dammit! She's freezing! And the boy doesn't have much longer! Turn on the fucking flashlight, Jenny!" At that Blair's haze seemed to clear and the reality of the situation washed over her at the exact moment a large wave crashed over their heads.

"Serena!" she croaked, forcing legs gone numb in the frigid mid –November waters to work.

Sputtering and choking, Jonathan dragged her slight form against his broad chest as the fluid monster poised to strike again. "Serena!" Blair shouted again as the weak beam of light from somewhere off to her left grazed the top of her head. "SERENA!" But the roar of the skies and the crash of the waves ate her words before Jonathan's ears could catch them and he held her fast against his chest as he began to swim for the approaching boat. They reached the tin can of a motor boat just as the roaring overhead piqued and a flash of lighting light the sky.

No, it wasn't lighting. It was a search beam! It was a helicopter overhead! It hit Blair then, as Jonathan shoved her hard against the boat's bottom and threw a tarp over her head.

She was in trouble.

Big trouble.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Grant adjusted Nate's heavy form over his shoulder. He'd slipped into an exhausted sleep just as they'd crossed over the city limits into Markham. If Grant could just get Nate back to the warehouse for an hour; get them both warm and refueled then they could take his truck across town to Nate's apartment and get V to the nearest hospital.

Maybe the land lines would be up and running again and he could get a hold of his girls, Janine would want to fret and mother V herself and would be down right irate if he Grant didn't call her. He hoped his girls were ok and weren't worried sick, but if what Grant thought had happened had indeed happened, and the pungent smell of death invading his nostrils and clinging to his soaked clothes were heavy indications that it had, then he'd take worried sick but _alive_ any day of the week over the alternative.

Grant's feet faltered as they came within viewing distance of the private airfield and warehouse. It was completely gone, reduced to a charred pile of dust. As was everything surrounding it, including Grant's truck and Nate's sporty little red car.

Nothing remained.

Nate stirred over Grant's shoulder. "Vanessa? Baby?" Grant's heart constricted painfully at the hope in the younger man's voice.

"No, I'm sorry lad. It's still just us," he told him dropping Nate into what was left of a snow bank. The fire that had consumed the warehouse had scorched most of the surrounding white flakes into puddles, but its heat had been absent long enough that the newest snow fall had begun to rebuild the banks. Grant tugged the straps of his pack from his shoulders and scrounged around inside the small bag until he came up with two granola bars. Grant shoved one under Nate's nose, positioning his body so that the blonde man couldn't see the destruction behind him. "Eat this. We're just making a pit stop, then we'll be on our way again."

But Nate didn't reach out to take the offering from Grant's beefy hands. Sleep had receded, taking its haze with it, and recognition shone in Nate's eyes. "Vanessa!" he cried as he surged to his feet. He didn't seem to notice the scorched destruction around them, or smell the heavy odor of burnt everything and death that was nearly suffocating Grant. His mind was only on one thing. Vanessa and their child.

"NATE!" Grant called after the boy he loved as his own as he sprinted clumsily through the soot and snow that clogged the business sector's streets.

And then Grant found himself chasing after Nate as he ran blindly through the Markham's desolate and dark night, once again hoping that his girls were safe and sound.

It was going to be a while before he could get a hold of them and find out for himself.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The tarp crinkled over Blair's head as she fought against the fresh waves of nausea that threatened to over take her. Her long forgotten shoulder throbbed with fire and the concussion Jonathan had mentioned she might have incurred during her flight through Tiffany's display window, and that she'd nearly forgotten about, roared to life. She was cold, wet, and in more pain than she could ever remember being in over her entire twenty eight years. But the drugs Jonathan had injected into her bloodstream were finally wearing off – which probably explained the renewed assault of knife wielding midgets currently hacking at her shoulder – leaving behind only the dull haze she was engulfed by whenever she forgot to take her pills. Though this time it were as if she was encased in a cloud of fog rather than a misty haze, but Blair chalked that up to the concussion and the dark tarp surrounding them.

Them? Serena!?

Blair ignored the flash of light behind her eyes that swinging her arms widely created, and frantically searched for her blonde best friend. Her hand came into contact with something furry, something that felt almost like hair – though it was frozen in clumps – and she felt a tiny squeal escape her lips. But the hair was too short to be Serena's. And she couldn't see so much as her own nose through the dark, but she was positive that the soaking wet and shaking figure that her hands were pulling against the meager heat her body offered was the boy Dr. Fugitive had rescued only to insist they leave for dead.

"Zach?" Blair's voice was barely above a whisper, though she knew her two captives couldn't hear her above their own anxious shouts and the roar of the helicopter. "Sweet heart? Can you hear me?" She was surprised by the tenderness in her own voice. She hadn't so much as taken a second look at a child – particularly a boy – since Charlie. But Zach didn't respond. He began to shake uncontrollably, soft whimpers echoing loudly in Blair's ears. "Shh," Blair cooed, "Mo- … Blair's here baby, I'm right here. It's ok." She continued to whisper soft reassurances, the constant sound of her voice reassuring her own frazzled nerves as much as Zach's, and pulled the slight child closer against her chest, petting his hair and patting his back.

"Fuck Jenny! Can't this thing go any faster?! He's gaining on us!"

Zach trembled violently against her breast at the harsh shouting that invaded their dark cave.

"He's in a fucking helicopter! Were in the middle of a fucking lake! All he has to do is hover until we get to shore – it's not like he's going to loose us!"

Blair hoped to hell that Jenny was right. She didn't think that Zach could survive much more of the cold. He'd been a veritable ice cube when they'd found him … God! She didn't even know what time it was! Or where they were!

"Then let him hover, I don't want that bastard Benson laying one finger on her!"

Uh, oh. Blair didn't like that tone of voice. She'd heard it after she'd woken up confused in the good doctor's shanty hospital, having apparently called out for _him_ in her sleep. There was a sharp edge to his voice that sliced at her already frayed nerves and sent alarm bells blaring in her ears.

But _he _wasn't… ok, so he was a bastard, but she'd even take _him_ rescuing her right now. If she even needed to be rescued. Was this Benson just another man's name mumbled through sleep, or was he really a bastard? Was Jonathan the big bad, or was he just a misunderstood – though arrogant and temperamental – quasi hero?

And where the hell was Serena?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Benson adjusted a lever and the helicopter sank lower in the sky. There was no point in trying to be cagey about it anymore; he knew Sasha had spotted him in that split second before he'd plunged into the icy waters. Benson sneered. The bastard had been so caught off guard by the helicopters presence that he hadn't noticed that he'd knocked the little brat over board, too.

"Blair…" Benson spared the blonde beside him a quick look. She kept repeating the bitch's name over and over and it was starting to piss him off.

"Thanks for the reminder, baby," his right hand left the gear shift to squeeze her left breast roughly and he felt his cock harden further. He'd been semi hard since he'd first gotten the message on his cell this morning that the Bitch was just about his. "You're right, I'll have her scrawny ass wrapped around me in no time." He flicked the blonde's nipple. She attempted to lift a hand to fend off his harsh fingers, but she'd been filleted like a fucking salmon and the pain that ripped through her tight body from the effort knocked her on her ass and sent her slipping back into unconsciousness.

Why she wasn't dead by now was beyond Benson. She'd bled like a fucking stuck pig and been hacked to pieces under Sasha's cruel hands. She should have bled out and be dead by now.

Unless…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Head for the docks! We might be able to lose him if we can get to the subway before he lands!"

"It's going to be hard with her and the boy both incapacitated! I can't-"

"Then I'll take them both!" The tarp was torn from Blair and Zach as Blair felt their excuse for a boat slam into something hard. Jonathan's words were frantic, and laced with both venom and traces of fear, leaving Blair even more confused as to what the hell was going on. She resisted his grip as he attempted to pry Zach from her arms and gather her into his.

"NO! He's coming with us!" she screeched as Dr. Doom's fingers latched onto hers again.

"I never said he wasn't, Princess." His green eyes were dark in the night, a stark contrast to the pale emerald they normally were. "Let him go so I can get you both out of here. You need food and water." Blair used every ounce of her strength to cling to the skinny child. "And your pills."

There were the warning bells again. "What the fuck do you know about my pills?" Blair spat in Jonathan's face. Jenny hovered nervously in the background, flicking pointed glances over head.

"He's circling. Looking for somewhere to land," the blonde warned, "Jesus Fuck, Johnny, hurry up!"

Jonathan nodded, his eyes still on Blair's slumped form. "Come on Joan, we've got to go." He nodded towards Zach, "He doesn't have much time. We need to get him inside."

"NO!" Blair screamed, her eyes wild with furry. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me just what the hell is going on? Where are we? Who's following us? Where is Serena? Who was in the sack you drowned! And how the fuck do you know Jenny?" Cold air prickled her wet skin as she pushed herself into a sitting position, all the while clutching the amber eyes boy to her chest. He shivered reverently as she yelled; "What the FUCK is going ON?!"

Jonathan shot a quick glance over his shoulder at Jenny, who looked like a dear caught in headlights, before he appeared to make the decision on his own and scooped up both half frozen child and woman and began sprinting towards a cement building. "Safety first, explanations later, Joan," he told her sternly, but Blair was too busy clinging to Zach to do more growl at Jonathan. "Get a MOVE on Jen!" he called over his shoulder, and the blonde startled to life, chasing after them quickly. They tumbled into the relative warmth of the cement building just as Zach began to convulse violently.

"Help him!" Blair screeched and Jonathan dumped her on her feet and snatched the child from her arms. Blair looked frantically around what looked like an empty warehouse for a blanket or a jacket – anything, but all she could see was a grease soaked tarp. "Here," she bit out as she dragged her tattered too-big sweatshirt over her head and shoved it at Jonathan, "wrap him in this."

The doctor shook his head, concern snuffing out the flicker of desire she saw catch fire in his dark eyes as he raked them over her. "You need the warmth, Zach needs the cold."

A strangled cry of frustration escaped Blair's throat and she fisted her hands on her hips, her forgotten sweater leaking lake water down her thigh as it squished against her hip. "What the HELL are you talking about? Explain!" He opened his mouth, presumably to spit an arrogant and snarky remark back in her face, but Jenny cut him off.

"Just tell her, Johnny," she said as she paced the warehouse. "She's weak and we need to get her to a hospital."

"If there is anyone even left alive to help her," he shot back as Jenny paced from window to window, keeping watch for their pursuer. Blair couldn't put her finger on the dynamic between them, but something about the way they circled each other carefully only to take turns cracking the whip against the other's back had her spine straightening and an odd feeling twisting in her suddenly queasy stomach.

"JONATHAN!" Blair roared, claiming his attention. "Zach. NOW. Explanation. NOW!" He set the boy on the tarp that Jenny had dragged across the room and began to check his vitals as he talked.

"We're across the boarder," he began as he pulled back Zach's eyelids to check his pupils. Blair gasped. He spared her a quick look. "You slept through the trip for the most part." She raised a disbelieving brow and he amended his statement. "With a little help from a sedative." Zach whimpered underneath Jonathan's surprisingly gentle touch and the doctor returned his attention to the small child. "You were slipping into delirium, screaming yourself hoarse and scaring the shit out of Junior here."

"Zach."

He ignored her interruption and continued, "I met Jenny when she was backpacking through Europe a few years back. I was staying with my brother at his English cottage and she got lost in Brussels." Blair glowered at Jenny, who blushed crimson red as Jonathan revealed just exactly where she hadn't been after graduation – studying fashion at her prestigious design school. Jonathan's jaw tightened and he spat his next words; "The bastard following us is Benson." He spared Blair a fierce look, "And he wants you dead."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chuck struggled to pull himself from the station wagon on legs that shook under the strain of his weight, but managed to hold him up. Just barely. Arthur shot his newly working limbs a pointed look, but Chuck ignored both it and the tingling sensation racing down his spine and twisting around his thighs. "You found Humphrey? What about Serena and Waldorf? Where are they? Where's mom?"

Eric's reply died on his lips at Chuck's use of the word 'mom' and his heart nearly broke all over again. How was he supposed to tell his brother he'd pretty much killed their mother? On top of actually slitting another man's throat. Though Chuck didn't appear to be bothered by the news of Dan's demise. "I couldn't find the girls. They were inside the original blast zone." He chocked back the tears that suddenly threatened to streak down his cheeks. "Mom's dead, Chuck. There was an accident. She didn't make it. Jesus, she's dead."

Chuck faltered, his sluggish limbs tripping him up, and Arthur reached out gnarled hands to steady him. "I believe it best if we continue this conversation from a sitting position, Sir." Chuck nodded, too stunned by Lily's death to protest as Eric and Arthur helped him back into the car. "My earlier opinion still stands," Arthur took advantage of Chuck's stunned stupor to examine his legs as Eric slipped the silver briefcase from the floorboards and placed the bottle of Dan's blood among its contents. "You are in dire need of medical attention. Perhaps the virus eliminated the city's population quickly and the local hospital is still aptly stocked."

Eric fought against the urge to snap at the old man, they'd never been known to get along, but this time the bastard was right. Chuck needed to have the gash at his forehead stitched, and if the way Arthur was coddling his legs was any indication, they needed to find him a wheelchair. He just hoped none of them were in need of a surgeon. The wall of bodies littering the highway up ahead didn't look promising for finding any survivors within the city limits. And what were the chances of running into a doctor?

"We need to get out of here," Eric agreed with Arthur. Chuck shook his head, snapping from his daze and throwing Arthur's hands from his legs. Arthur dusted off his suit pants and stood in the station wagon's open doorway. Eric hovered over his shoulder, briefcase tightly gripped in his hand.

"We need to get to the antidote," Chuck countered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Chuck, you're banged up pretty good." Eric rounded the hood of the car as he spoke, his soft voice carrying in the eerie silence despite its low timbre.

"What is WRONG with you both!?" Chuck roared. "Have you completely fucking forgotten what's going on?" Eric's hand stilled as he reached for the front passenger door handle. His spine stiffened and he turned eyes colder than ice on his brother.

"No," he bit out. "I don't think I have, Chuck. Mom's dead. I watched her die. Watched her body take its last breath. Watched her eyes glaze over and saw her blood stop pumping." Venom strangled his words, shrouding them in anger, but he continued. "I killed Humphrey. KILLLED our sister's boyfriend. Watched him die too. Not to mention I had no choice but to leave our sister to die alone and terrified in that hell. You didn't see it. You weren't there. You don't know what the fuck_ you're_ talking about. We're getting out of here. We need to get to Nate's warehouse. NOW."

Before Chuck had a chance to open his mouth to question anything Eric had just said, or to agree with him on their destination, Arthur cut him off. "Sir, you need medical attention, and as I have previously explained, the vehicle is not equipped for that type of abuse. Also, if I may be so bold as to remind you, the obstacles blocking our path have been infected with the virus, and would most likely bestow their fate upon us if we attempted to travel through them to the opposite side of the city."

Eric interjected, talking loudly over his brother's response, "We're not going to Markham."

"What?"

Eric slid into the passenger seat and waited for Arthur to follow suit before he elaborated. "Nate kept two vials in his apartment just inside the city limits. We get them, incase Humphrey's blood is useless, and we get the hell out of here." He twisted in his seat to stare at his stubborn sibling, "And we get you to a doctor. End of discussion."

Seeing no point in arguing as his objections had been dealt with – the wagon just might provide enough protection from the virus if the trip was less than half an hour – Arthur turned the key in the ignition. Chuck grumbled under his breath in the back seat, but didn't object.

No one asked why Eric wasn't driving.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"What!?" Blair squeaked.

"He wants you dead," Jonathan repeated. "Jesus Joan, fine. Alright, here it is. But don't blame me if your pretty little head has trouble hitting the pillow at the end of the night." Blair ignored the fact that it was already pitch dark outside and focused instead on Jonathan's face as the explanation she'd been demanding was finally offered to her. "My parents weren't exactly candidates for Mother or Father of the year. Dad beat mom to a pulp when I was sixteen and we moved from the States back to Russia to live with a distant uncle after he got life for her murder. My name's not really Jonathan, by the way," he put in quickly, moving on before Blair had a chance to react. "Alex loved Russia. Fit right in with whole dictatorship thing. I didn't mind it either," his deft fingers removed his disheveled lab coat as he spoke and wrapped it around Zach's shivering body, "until Uncle picked up where dear old dad left off. He beat the shit out of us until we were eighteen when I signed up for the military and got the hell out of Russia and Alex left for the States." Green eyes met brown briefly and that same spark of something Blair had seen creep into his eyes when she'd sat on the sterilized examination table hours before flashed briefly, "He hooked up with your ex-fiancé, and somehow ended up behind this whole mess." He nodded when Blair's eyes widened. "Yea, the virus. That's how I know so much about it. Actually," he lifted Zach into his arms and cradled him gently against his chest, "if we are being honest, I may have unknowingly been key to engineering the thing. A military doctor with experience in infectious diseases was apparently too good for Alex to pass up. He had me thinking we were curing some auto-immune disease, not creating the next Ebola virus."

"That's all well and good – horrible childhood, sob story. Where the hell is Serena?" Jonathan hesitated just briefly enough that Blair's head begun to spin. He reached out a strong arm and caught her against his chest, tucking her against the taught muscles beside Zach.

"Hey," his tone slipped from cut steel to concern so quickly Blair was sure he was bipolar, "Just breath. She's not dead." The room stopped spinning at that and relief surging through Blair's veins.

"Then where is she?" Blair asked, tilting her head to look up at him. The tiny scars on the underside of his chin winked at her as he took a deep breath, bracing her weight against him fully in anticipation of her reaction.

"We had to leave her behind."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Fuck! Why hadn't he noticed before? Benson veered the helicopter towards the roof of the building his prey had disappeared into, grabbing the whore's arm once they'd landed to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

Shit! He pulled the device from his pocket, quickly texting a check in message to Alexei the All Mighty.

_**I have it. In the chopper on a roof the docks. Come get it.**_

He hit send before hurriedly typing out another message to the number he knew by heart.

_**The Bitch is as good as dead. You better have Bass. He needs to watch his Princess fuck a real man before she burns. Two hours, be there.

* * *

A/N** - Ok, before you say it - I didn't lie. They WERE in the same scene. :) Chuck just wasn't quite ready to see her again, and was being a giant pain in my ass. SO - Chuck willing - CB ***REUNION*** ( I can't wiggle out of that one, now can I?) will be NEXT. Even if I have to make the chapter 10,000 words instead of the normal 5,000. Which, btw, is LONG to write. lol. _

_xoxo_

_Lynne  
_


	16. Chapter 16

_**Disclaimer:** Same old song and dance._

_**A/N- **__It seems like all I'm doing lately is apologizing for the lateness/crappiness of my work. I'm going to stop doing both. Mainly because I plan on updating both this and Darkling on a weekly basis from now on. Maybe more for Darkling, as it's shorter parts. Any way, I just wanted to thank everyone who has stuck with this and who has left me their thoughts. It never fails to push me through the rough spots. THANK YOU.  
_

THANK YOU TO WIFEY. Love you. _  


* * *

_

"I'm not arguing with you about this, Chuck. It makes the most sense." And it did. Eric was right. Arthur was in no shape to climb the fifteen stories to Nate and Vanessa's Toronto apartment and Chuck could barely manage to support his own weight on even ground – let alone while climbing that many flights of stairs. But that didn't stop Chuck from objecting vehemently to Eric going alone. Eric shook his head. "You don't even know the fucking way. And I'm the only one of us that's already come into contact with the virus. The only one that's been immunized." Eric had quickly hit the highlights of his entire ordeal as had Arthur navigated the station wagon over the sea of corpses towards the apartment: his run in with Dan, the discovery of the mole in the Manhattan warehouse, and his encounter with the virus. "I'm going. Alone," he added.

"The building could go up in flames at any minute!" His brother was right. It could. The entire block surrounding them seemed to be on fire. The only reason that Eric could even see that Chuck was scowling at the prospect of him rushing into Nate's building by himself was because of the orange/yellow glow that surrounding flames them were casting across his face. Nate's building could even already be kindling; they really had no way of knowing, but there had been enough of Eric loosing family members for a fucking lifetime. He wasn't going to take the risk with his only surviving relative. Not with his brother. Eric – and only Eric – was going in. "How do you even know the vials are going to be here anyway? How do you know Archibald hasn't already swiped them for himself and ran off with them?" The bitterness of memories past edged into his sibling's words as he spoke, but Eric was steadfast.

Eric climbed from the front seat into the somewhat less cluttered residential street. With his palm on the door frame he paused briefly, reluctant to drop another bomb on his already tortured sibling. But he'd had enough of this shit. They were wasting time."The vials were accidentally left behind on the last shipment. Nate was supposed to be running them north this morning. I have no way of knowing one way or the other if they made it onto the plane or not. But there's only one way to find out." And then he was gone, jogging into the eerily quiet building, the odd smell that Chuck had first noticed on the highway several miles beginning to permeate the air.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"You WHAT?" The warehouse's frigid temperatures couldn't cool the boiling heat that ripped through Blair then. She stepped back from Jonathan, the palms she'd pushed angrily against his chest shaking from unrestrained rage.

Jonathan frowned down at her and brought the hand he'd used to tuck Blair against his chest to pat Zach on the back. The feverish child had begun to wail frantically at Blair's tone. "We had to leave her behind," he repeated. "Despite whatever drugged up fantasies you've had about me, Princess, I don't actually own a noble steed. I could only manage one knocked out broad at a time."

The teasing undertone to his words nearly sent Blair into a fit. New York had been demolished, they were being followed by some murderous maniac, and could be well on their way to being flesh puddles and he had the nerve to flirt with her. He was cocky, arrogant, and more than a little insane, if you asked Blair. But at least he wasn't trying to kill her.

Jonathan anticipated her next question before it pounced on him, adding; " I left Alex's camp before he'd completely finished tinkering with the virus. We needed Zach as a baseline measure to see exactly what we were dealing with. I couldn't leave him behind." His teasing tone was replaced by one hard enough to cut glass, "And I wasn't leaving you."

The man was an enigma. He'd rubbed her the wrong way from the minute he'd pulled her from Tiffany's charred remains. He even seemed to enjoy pushing her buttons. That damn smirk always crept across his full lips whenever he knew he was frustrating her and it annoyed Blair to no end that she'd caught herself smiling back at him on more than one occasion. But there was something in the way he was almost overly possessive of Blair that had warning bells ringing in her ears.

"But it was ok to leave Serena," she countered, wariness beginning to zap her anger.

Jenny stepped between Jonathan and Blair, turning her back on the sandy haired man to face her former schoolmate. Her nostrils were flared and her eyes wide. "Blair, we don't have time for this! We have to get out of here!"

Jonathan moved to place a comforting hand on Jenny's shoulder and again Blair was struck by the odd flip flop of roles between the two. "It's ok, Jen. We're leaving now. Take the kid." He held Zach out for the blonde to take, but the boy spotted Blair from the corner of his eye and launched himself into her arms. Any previous hesitation to interact with the amber eyed child brought on by his similarity to Charlie was gone, and Blair automatically nestled him into her breast, stroking his hair.

Jonathan sighed. "Jen," he began again, turning toward to blonde, "Joan of Arch, patron saint of crazy over here," Blair was indicated with a frustrated tilt of his head, "refuses to leave until she's told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I'm just going to give her the quick run down again on how I'm **not** the one trying to kill her." Blair huffed but Jonathan ignored her. "There's a free clinic on York. It's pretty well equipped. Meet us there."

"But-"

Jonathan squeezed her shoulder. "Just get everything I told you ready. We won't be more than ten minutes behind you." Jenny looked as though she might object again, but thought better of it.

"Just be careful," she pleaded with both her words and the shinning of terrified tears in her eyes. And then she was gone. Out a door that Blair hadn't realized was at the back of the warehouse.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The trek up fifteen flights of stairs had Eric dragging in ragged breaths. The light dusting of smoke he'd run into on the seventh floor and that had gradually thickened, swirling around him until his eyes had stung when he'd attempted to keep them open longer than a millisecond, had him crawling the last few feet to Nate's front door on his hands and knees.

He hoped to whoever or whatever was listening that the vials were still inside and that the smoke hadn't damaged the antidote. Or even worse, that whatever unseen fire that had filled the stairwell with smoke and had the hallway feeling more like a sauna than an apartment building hadn't charred the antidote beyond recognition. Let alone use.

A deafening crack punctured the silence that enveloped Eric. It reminded him of his mom's second husband. The grubby man had had a thing for campfires, though he'd been allergic to everything under the sun – save for cocaine, of course – and had had a fireplace installed in every room of their home. Not one of those gas ones, either. The real ones. The ones that would back smoke up into your bedroom if the flu wasn't open properly; the ones that required real wood to function. Real wood that crackled and shifted as it burnt, scaring the shit out of a five year old Eric.

Of course he hadn't been allowed to sleep without there being a fire stoked in the hearth in his room because husband number two loved the smell of wood burning. Eric really fucking hated fires. But he was crawling on his hands and knees through the heavy shroud of smoke, the tiny shards of what had probably once been windows slicing his skin to shreds, and was more than likely about to jump from the frying pan into the fire.

It wouldn't even begin to make up for everything that he'd had to do over the last twenty four hours, but it if nothing else it was a start.

He'd tried to convince himself that there hadn't any other option, there wasn't any other way. He'd had to leave Serena behind. Blair was no where to be found. And even if he had been able to locate her amongst the rubble in the chaos, he'd already somehow been infected. There wouldn't have been enough time – and he didn't possess the knowledge – to synthesize the antidote from her blood. He'd be dead right now himself had he not forced Dan to the warehouse when he did.

Taking Hump... taking a sample of Humphrey's blood wasn't something he could have avoided doing, either. As much as he wished with every part and every cell and every atom of his body that it could have been. He'd been forced to do it. The way the Rover had wrapped itself around that three hadn't left Eric with any other feasible option. Dan was pinned between the dashboard and the side door. Eric would have had to have had the jaws of life to get him out. And he needed him. Or at least a sample of his blood. Eric hadn't been left with any other viable alternative. He couldn't stay and watch his sister's boyfriend slowly die like he'd watched his mother's eyes glaze over. Time was running out. He needed to get to Nate. He couldn't wait for Humphrey to take his last breath. He needed the man's blood. He hadn't been left with any other choice, really. He couldn't just walk away and leave what could very well be their last hope for salvation pool in thick puddles around Humphrey's feet. He had to do it.

But Humphrey had saved his life. He'd made the hard choice and rammed the needle into Eric's neck. And Eric had thanked him by slitting his jugular.

He needed to do it. There wasn't any other way. Without what the thick, red liquid possibly contained there wouldn't be any hope to cure whatever survivors were left.

If there were any left.

Eric physically checked himself. He couldn't think like that. Humphrey's blood would contain the antidote. And with the vials behind the door he'd finally reached, Chuck and Arthur would survive long enough to ensure that it be synthesized in mass quantities.

There would be enough to cure everyone who needed it.

A thought struck Eric then as he lay a palm against the heavy metal door, feeling for signs of fire on the other side. Just how many people would need the antidote? How far around the bend had Alexei gone? Was it just New York and Toronto that he'd infected? All of North America?

How far did this thing go?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jonathan pried Zach's fingers from around Blair's neck. "Put your sweatshirt back on. You're freezing."

Yes. That's right. He'd said she needed to be warm. And that Zach needed to be cold. "What you said about me needing to be warm, and Zach needing to be cold." Her voice came muffled from underneath her sweatshirt as she tugged the still damn garment over her head. Jonathan made a noise she took to mean yes, his eyes glazed over as he watched her pull the damp material over her breast, and she continued. "Why?"

Finally finding his voice, Jonathan answered. "Talk and walk, Joan. If Benson finds us, the answer won't matter." He reached out a hand and she eyed it wearily.

"Give me him," she said instead. Jonathan shrugged one shoulder and handed the child back to her. Zach immediately burrowed his head into the hollow between Blair's neck and shoulder.

It worried her that he hadn't spoken two words since New York. He'd barley even opened his eyes.

"Joan," Jonathan prompted, and Blair realized that she'd let her thoughts wonder to another little amber eyed boy. She shook her head, attempting the shake the visions of white hospital walls and clear tubbing from her mind, but the effort proved to be unneeded as what sounded terrifyingly like a bullet shattering glass chased all coherent thought from her mind.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

This was fucking ridiculous. Chuck shifted uncomfortably as the tingling that only seemed to have increased since they left the 400 series highway prickled the flesh at his ankles. They shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be sitting in a car, idly twiddling his thumbs. Just waiting. "This is fucking ridiculous, Old Man." But Arthur hadn't acknowledged anything Chuck had been spitting at the back of his head in over ten minutes. Instead he sat stoically in the driver's seat, fiddling with something in his lap. "What the hell are you doing?"

The grey haired man spared his employer a brief glance over his skinny shoulder. "I am currently attempting to discover whether the cellular telephone remains without signal, Sir."

Chuck bristled. He'd ordered all cell phones be destroyed and left behind in Chicago after their crash landing. Shifting forward, intent of tearing a strip off the old bastard for defying him; he knew just as well as Chuck did – if not more – exactly what Benson was capable of, he fisted the man's annoyingly pristine suit jacket in his hand, but before he could begin his tirade, Arthur interrupted him.

"There is no need for alarm or to over react, Mr. Bass," he told him calmly. "The device is encrypted, is it not?" Pasty white hands twisted from both arthritis and age held the black phone out for Chuck to inspect. It was the satellite phone that Chuck kept hidden amongst the content's of his silver briefcase. Arthur must have taken it when he'd given Chuck the knock out drug and the paralytic. Pulse quickening to rival the speed of light, Chuck snatched the sleek, plastic device from the old man's hands. The signal was strong, the sheer volume of calls being attempted having drastically dropped over the last few hours. Or maybe it was because it was probably already past three a.m.. If he hadn't seen the effects of the virus first hand, he might have been inclined to belief the latter.

Brown eyes widened to saucers as the phone beeped in Chuck's hands, indicating one new message. Nobody save for Eric, Lily, and Chuck himself new the number. Eric could possibly still have his cell on him, but it was highly unlikely that he'd stop mid mission to call or text the satellite phone of all things. And Lily...Lily was dead.

"Who did you contact!?" Chuck's deep voice split the uneasy silence that had crept into the wagon. If Arthur's loyalties had swung back in the opposite direction, Eric wouldn't be the only brother to have blood on his hands. Chuck would slit the old bastard's throat himself if the mother fucker had contacted Alexei. "Answer me you cock sucker!"

But before Chuck could force his vibrating thumb to press the button that would display the message's sender, Eric ran screaming from the building, a limp form thrown over his shoulder. "Go! We need to go right now! Fucking drive!"

Chuck startled and dropped the cell phone. Arthur merely turned to take in the blonde haired and blood caked man that was now also saturated in soot. Eric rounded the front of the car, glaring at Arthur through the windshield as the limp form – a woman, Chuck could see now – bounced against his shoulder with every hurried step he took.

"Jesus Christ old man! You heard him! GO!" Chuck roared, clumsily vaulting over the front seat to reach the gear shift. The frenzied action sent the black, plastic device sliding unnoticed under Arthur's seat. Fingers just short of reaching their goal floundered in the air between employer and employee. "Put the fucking car in gear, Arthur!"

Arthur raised a gnarled hand, but instead of putting the idling old wagon into drive, he calmly flicked the switch that automatically locked the doors just as Eric reached out a badly burnt hand to open it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Carter nearly sighed in relief when Benson's check in message had told him that he'd found Waldorf. Carter didn't question why Alexei was pleased with the development, he wasn't going to be the one that pointed out that Blair might not possess the same antibodies as the male relative whose blood work Alexei's source had sent them this morning. If Alexei was pleased, it just might mean that he wasn't staging Carter's gruesome death. So when they spotted the bastard's chopper and it was a blonde instead of a brunette that sat sprawled in the front seat, Carter nearly swallowed his tongue.

Slowly, Alexei turned to Carter. The helicopter's lights shadowed the harsh angles of his face. Carter raised nervous hands in an attempt to stave of the onslaught.

"Benson said it's here," he told him quickly. " Not she. Maybe he meant the antidote and not the Waldorf girl. It could be in the chopper's cab." The loud echoes of his expensive leather shoes slapping frantically against the building's cement roof split the air. Fear tripped down Carter's spine as he searched first the pilot seat and then the seat the blonde was slumped haphazardly in. He didn't want to have to be the one to tell Alexei that it wasn't here. It should be here. Benson was one sick fuck, but he was trustworthy to a fault. ...But he was still one sick fuck. And he wouldn't have left the girl behind if she wasn't the 'it' he was talking about. Carter scanned the blonde's body quickly, and his eyes came to a crashing halt as his gaze swept over the crook of her right elbow.

"What is it, Carter?"

Carter startled. "She looks like she's been operated on in the last twenty four hours. And there's fresh track marks in her arm." Turning to face the man who'd snuck up on him unnoticed, his gaze flitted over the blonde woman's face. "Jesus, fuck," he breathed, and Alexei stepped closer, peering through the open doorway. "It's Serena." The weight of the situation forced Carter's breath from his lungs. "My God. You don't think Benson somehow...switched Van der Woodsen's..." he couldn't bring himself to say it, "switched their insides?"

But the gleam in Alexei's eyes told Carter that he wouldn't put it past his henchman to have done just that. His lips twitched into what on his face passed as a smile. "If he did then we have both virus and antidote." His phone beeped once more. "And soon we'll have Bass."

Carter was too busy sighing in relief to see the bullet that Alexei put right between his eyes.

"Which means your services are no longer required, Special Agent Carter Baizen. F.B.I."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"I can not comply with your request, Sir." Arthur's voice was even as he peered down at Chuck. The dark haired man glared daggers up at his employee, but Arthur didn't move to grant Eric entrance into the vehicle. "The woman has been exposed to the virus. She appears to be badly injured and is hemorrhaging from at least one laceration," his eyes indicated the apparently unconscious woman draped over his brother's broad shoulder, then slid back to Chuck's angry face. "If her blood were to make contact with any of your open wounds, you would be deceased in under five hours." What could have been the most emotion Chuck had ever seen Arthur express flickered briefly behind ice blue eyes, but it was gone before he could really be sure. "It is an unacceptable risk, Sir, when we have yet to discover through which means the virus is transferred**. **Particularly as Mr. Van der Woodsen appears to have been unsuccessful in recovering the antidote."

Still half slumped between driver and front passenger seat, Chuck's eyes flicked quickly from Arthur's dispassionate gaze to the window at his right. Eric's right hand banged furiously against the glass, his left kept the woman's slight figure securely held over his shoulder with a firm grip around her upper thighs. He didn't have the antidote grasped in either hand. And his pockets lay flat against his legs; they too were baron. The vials hadn't been in Archibald's apartment or they had been devoured by the same flames that had licked Eric's hands and face, leaving angry red blisters in their wake.

"Open the God damn door!" Eric's flame kissed palm left bloody prints against the window. "Chuck! Open the door! She's bleeding out! We have to get her to a hospital!"

Chuck hesitated. Smoke had begun to creep into the station wagon, the smell of burning wood and rubber already starting to suffocate the usable oxygen. The building that hadn't had fire dancing in the windows when Eric had disappeared into Archibald's building not thirty minutes ago now were engulfed in bright flames.

"Chuck! Open the fucking door!" Eric's voice sounded as if he were screaming the demand from under water as unbidden images of another fire nearly three years past flooded Chuck.

Too many people had suffered because of the virus. Because of him. Too many people were dead. This had to end, he had to end it. But he wouldn't be able to do shit all if he were dead. "Leave the girl," Chuck told his brother forcefully.

Eric shook his head violently. "She's hurt! I'm not leaving her! Open the fucking door, Chuck!"

But he couldn't. They needed to make their way north to the secondary warehouse that Archibald's shipment may or may not have reached this morning. "I can't," and he would regret it for the rest of his life, he knew. Charlie, Bart, Lily, Serena, Humphrey and who knew how many more thousands of innocent people were dead because of him. But there would be thousands more if they didn't leave the girl and get the hell out of here. Now. "Eric, fuck!" Chuck roared when Eric backed away from the wagon at his brother's refusal to unlock the car door.

The blonde man dragged in a ragged breath. "I'm not leaving her." His eyes found Chuck's through the blood stained glass. "I'm not leaving behind one more fucking person." Voice cracking from the emotion that had tears running freely down his cheeks, he continued, "I left her, Chuck. I just left Serena. If she's dead it's because of me. And Mom.... Oh, God. Mom's dead." Slowly, he shifted the unconscious woman in his arms until he cradled her like a child. "I can't leave her. I can't leave her." As his brother repeated the phrase over and over again Chuck's breath caught in his throat. The woman's head lolled limply against Eric's shoulder, but when the distraught man paused in his mantra to take a breath her face rose slightly, turning just enough toward Chuck that he could make out her identity. "I can't do that to Nate. I can't leave her."

Vanessa. Fuck. Shit. Piss. Mother fucking, son of a whore!

They couldn't bring her with them. They couldn't risk it. If she was infected she'd kill everyone save for Eric before they even made it out of province.

But she was Nathaniel's woman. Had Chuck not been sitting on the rotting floorboards of that shantis farmhouse in Chicago just over six hours ago, contemplating everything that had gown down between the two men? Nathaniel's father, his mother's suicide. So much had happened their senior year of high school that Chuck had been to engrossed in his own tumultuous life to be there for his best friend the way he should have been.

Nate had always been there for him. Through everything. And he'd repaid him by sleeping with his girlfriend. She'd technically been his ex-girlfriend at the time, but technicalities didn't matter. Not when it came to Blair. She'd always be Nate's. And she'd always want to be Nate's.

A fact Chuck knew all to well.

That day... after Charlie... after he was gone, Chuck had gone to find her where he knew she'd be. In the room they'd painted that bright shade of blue together. His room. And she'd been there, her back to him, her shoulders shaking with the same grief that clawed at his insides. She hadn't known he was there. He'd been a heartbeat away from revealing his presence to her, from revealing the feelings he'd only recently acknowledged weren't going anywhere any time soon (probably because if he was being honest, they'd had years to fester and take root without him being the wiser.) The feelings that he'd since come to decide had been anything but what he'd thought they'd been; anything but _love_, when he'd noticed the thin band of gold between her fingers.

Gold and red. Gold and Ruby. That damn ring. He'd been a breath away from proclaiming his love for her and she'd been sitting there, on the day of their... on the day that Charlie... died, toying with the ring her Prince Charming had given her nearly a decade ago. An hour after and she was already done with Chuck. Even after everything they'd been through.

Archibald always got what Chuck wanted – even if what he wanted at that particular moment had been fleeting; a desire to possess the unobtainable. Well, Chuck didn't have time to facilitate this particular want, despite his general like of the woman in his brother's arms.

It was then, as Eric's pleading words squirmed their way through the closed door that Chuck's mind was changed for him."Chuck, please. The baby... I can't leave them behind."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jonathan grabbed for Blair's hand. "RUN!"

And she did. As quickly as humanly possibly. But her jeans were too big and the water they'd absorbed from the freezing freshwater she'd nearly drown kept sending them slipping past her slim hips.

"Take Zach!"

Jonathan glanced over his shoulder as he dragged her through the same door Jenny that had disappeared through, but instead of lifting the now unconscious child from her arms once they were outside, he scooped them both up into strong arms and took off at a sprint.

"What are you doing!?" she demanded.

She felt his smirk against the top of her head. "You're barely holding together as it is, Princess. I don't want to have to stitch any more you back together once we get to the clinic." She would have argued, but the fuzziness that had engulfed her out on the water was back now, making her head flop against his shoulder. "Besides," he continued, "your adrenaline is probably just about out of gas. We need to get some food and the closest thing that the clinic has to your pills into you as soon as possible. Not that I mind this side of you," he added when her fingers began tracing the odd little scars on the underside of his jaw.

The mention of her medication seemed to stave off the blurriness creeping into the edges of her vision. "How do you know about the pills?"

He chuckled. "You wear a medical alert bracelet." Her forgotten concussion, upset at being ignored, cleared its throat loudly as Blair's skull smacked against Jonathan's collar bone.

"On my necklace," she agreed, tightening her grip on Zach's limp form, "but I lost it back in New York right after I met you." He was silent just long enough for her murky brain to send up a red flag.

"Not quite," he finally answered, throwing quick glances behind them. Blair didn't want to incite the metal cleat wearing, tap dancing baseball players so she took the fact that he didn't quicken their pace to mean that the diabolical Benson wasn't following them and didn't crane her neck to look for herself. "It's probably easier if I just tell you what I know. And don't interrupt, Joanie. It's impolite," he added before she could pepper him with questions.

"Smarmy son of a..." she mumbled under he breath, but thought better of it when he quickly veered to his left, cueing the tap dancing ball players.

"As I was saying," he continued with far too much mirth for a person sworn to help the sick...

No. He wasn't a doctor, she suddenly realized. In her mother's studio, when they'd been searching for tampons of all things, Jenny had said that Blair hadn't been 100% wrong when she'd accused Jonathan, or whatever the hell is real name was, of not being a real doctor and of being the one responsible for the virus. He'd told her it was his brother Alex and not him who was responsible for the blasts, and his brother who'd tricked him into engineering the virus. So that only left one option. "I lied to you earlier, when I told you I was head of peds surgery. You were right, I'm not really a 'real' doctor," he admitted, scaring Blair with how in tune his revelation was with her thoughts. "Not by America's standards, anyway. I told you about joining the army the second I turned eighteen in Russia. Long story short, I somehow ended up finding out I had a knack for sewing guys back together. Earned me the knick name doc, and I sorta just fell into the job when I quit the service ten years ago."

Blair scoffed.

"I'm a quick learner," he said. "What did I tell you about interrupting?" Blair remembered just in time that rolling her eyes would have been a bad plan considering her already pounding skull. "Anyway, Alex found me about two and a half years ago in a prison in Thailand and somehow managed to have me released. Told me some sob story that I later found out was bull about his kid that had died from some auto immune disease. He knew I'd spent the last few years bumming around Africa and had come into contact with some pretty ruthless viruses, asked me if I'd help him find the cure to his kid's disease. I helped him up until I found out what it was I was actually working on. I tracked your ex..." and again Blair was left with an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach at the word, "down a week ago and hopped the first flight to Tokyo, but I'd just missed him. Got word he was supposed to be at a meeting in New York this morning -"

Blair's eye lids flew open at that. "What? Chuck was supposed to be in New York today?" She didn't remember that she didn't care one way or the other if he lived or died, or that she had forbidden herself to speak his name, until after the frantic question had slipped pasted her lips.

Spine stiff, Jonathan ground out his reply, "yes." He quickly passed over the parts of his story pertinent to the ex-fiance Blair hadn't spoken to in eight years, telling her only that he'd been expected at a meeting in Manhattan, but that Jonathan had beaten him there. Chuck had probably been somewhere over the Midwest when the first explosions had hit. Jonathan mentioned almost in passing that he'd found out through a source that Chuck hadn't had anything to do with the virus, and that he too had been swindled by Alex. And Blair didn't know why, but it unnerved her slightly that anyone would ever think Chuck Bass capable of genocide.

He was a lot of things, this she knew from first hand experience, but he wasn't a murderer. Or at least he hadn't been the last time she'd talked to him at eighteen. Or the last time she'd seen him. Just a few months ago in Paris. Though she'd agreed that that had been a bad dream. Their limo encounter hadn't happened. And the only reason she was bringing it up now was...

Jonathan quickened his pace, saving Blair from her own thoughts, and she gulped. "It's ok, Princess," he told her. "Just impatient to get you all fixed up, is all." But there was something in the way his Adam's apple shook slightly as he spoke that told Blair something wasn't right. Had she been shot and not realized it? Was she bleeding to death in his arms? No. Not that she could see. Had Benson found them?

Jonathan must have felt her frantically trying to peer over his shoulder, because he dropped a reassuring kiss to her temple and told her, "He's not behind us, yet. I won't lie to you, he's good. My brother's best tracker, and craziest mother fucker I've ever come into contact with." The fact that that was only the second time that she'd heard Jonathan swear wasn't lost on Blair. "But right now I'm more worried about getting you to the clinic. Being deprived of your medication shouldn't be having this drastic of an effect on you." Yes, she'd noticed the same thing. It felt almost as though she were drunk. "We're almost there, though. Just focus on the sound of my voice, and if anything changes in the way you're feeling, you tell me the second it does."

He was scaring her. Even when they'd been standing in the warehouse and that bullet had come crashing through the window, he hadn't so much as blinked. Maybe she had been shot and didn't realize it.

"Hey," he jostled her lightly and she moaned her protest. "Open your eyes." Had she closed them? "Blair, sweetheart. Open your eyes." And she did. Because he called her Blair and hadn't done that in nearly seven hours. Something was definitely wrong. "So like I was saying," he was trying to keep her mind off of it, whatever it was, she knew. But his voice wasn't as level as it should have been. "I ended up in New York, ran into you and you know the story from there, until your friend. I clamped the bleeder in her neck, and was able to repair it with the replacement artery." The one Blair had carved out of that dead guy's neck. "But she'd lost a lot of blood by this point. Lucky for her to two of you were the same blood type. I stole a few pints of your blood." He chuckled and the sound distracted Blair from wondering how exactly he'd been able to know just by looking at them that she and Serena shared the same blood type. "Hope you don't mind. And I did go back for her, but she was gone by the time I got there. Probably was picked up by some good Samaritan and is safe and sound right now. Probably better off than we are."

"How did we end up with Jenny?" Blair asked, suddenly remembering being sprawled on her back in the lunch room of her mother's studio.

"Ok. So I lied to you twice, I'm sorry." Blair clumsily arched a brow, and he continued, his words only slightly breathy, "I knew who you were when I ran into you at Tiffany's. When I first met Jenny, all she did was babble about Eleanor and Blair Waldorf. She even dragged me to one of your mom's shows a few years back. You were there. So when you flipped out on me and I had to sedate you, I had to bring you somewhere close by while I fetched the blonde. I remembered from Jenny's latest letter that she'd landed a job working in your mom's studio, and that it was in the general area." His pace quickened again as he spoke and Blair tried to focus on his words instead of their ominous speed. "I took a chance that the building hadn't been leveled. It hadn't, and I ran into Jenny. We decided to get the hell out of dodge."

"What about Eleanor?"

Jonathan paused. "I'm sorry," he told her by way of an answer. "By the time I got there and unlocked the door..."

Unlocked the door? Blair had the only key to Eleanor's private office. It was the way the old battle axe had wanted it. She hadn't wanted any one else to know she'd gone blind. That she hadn't been the brilliant mind behind Waldorf Designs' most talked about lines. But the key was on the same necklace as her ring and medical alert bracelet. And she'd lost her necklace somewhere in Jonathan's basement hospital just before it had exploded. "How did you unlock the door without the key?"

Jonathan cleared his throat, preparing to answer, but the door to the small building on their right flew open then, and Jenny called out to them. "Sasha! We have a problem! Hurry!"

Jonathan, whose real name was Sasha, apparently, took off after Jenny at a dead run. Blair's skull screeched in protest, but the sheer terror evident in Jenny's voice had her pained screams dieing in her throat. Jenny disappeared into what looked like a modest sized treatment room and Sasha/Jonathan stopped just short of the door. Setting her on her feet, he told her to wait there until he'd figured out what was going on. Slowly, he took in her appearance, hesitating briefly before he shoved his hand into the pants pocket of the surgical scrubs he still wore. The metal of the object that he pressed into her hand was cool against her skin. "Jenny insisted we give her a proper burial. It was as close as we could get." And then he disappeared into the treatment room.

Blair shifted Zach's weight in her arms. A loud noise startled her and she turned, her heart in her throat, just as two broad shouldered men hurried into the clinic. But it wasn't Benson. At least, she didn't think the second, larger man could be Benson. Not when the first man was the first boy she'd ever kissed.

"Nate?" she asked incredulously. "What are you doing here?"

Nate ignored her, twisting his head in every direction searching for something. The second man reached out a large, beefy hand, tugging on Nate's shoulder until he was forced to face him. "I'll find her," his beard bounced as he talked, and Blair realized that he had an accent. Australian, if she wasn't mistaken. "You aren't in any shape to see her. You'll only upset her further." He seemed to only notice Blair then, his green eyes glancing over her tired frame quickly before they jumped back to Nate's. "Why don't you take care of the young lady behind you. She looks about ready to drop." When Nate only stared straight ahead, the bearded Australian stepped around him. One large hand reached out and scooped Zach from Blair's weakening grip while the other caught Blair before her knees had the chance to buckle. He carried both Zach and Blair effortlessly until all three came face to face with Nate.

"Nate," Blair repeated weakly. And he finally appeared to hear her. His head snapped up and his gaze slammed into hers.

"Jesus, Blair!" he cried. The room spun slightly as she was passed from man to man. Bending to hook his elbow behind Blair's knees and gather her up in his arms, Nate motioned for Grant to set Zach down in a plastic chair along the far wall. Grant complied, leaning the unconscious child against Nate's side once he'd settled with Blair in his lap.

Grant hesitated, he didn't exactly know what was going on, or how the woman knew Nate, but it was the first spark of life he'd seen in the blue eyes in almost twelve hours. It didn't nearly come close to rivaling the twinkle the boy normally carried in him, but it was a start. Maybe the brunette and her son could kick start what Grant had been struggling for hours to set in motion. He slipped down the hallway unnoticed to search for Vanessa, leaving Blair in Nate's lap with Zach slummed into the lad's side. And they were in the same position, save for Nate's slow rocking motion, when Chuck limped out of the treatment room ten minutes later.

* * *

_**A/N- **It took over three weeks and seven thousand words (and perhaps a little choppy editing, don't worry, I'll explain, I promise), but I finally got Chuck's ass into the same building as Blair's. I had planned to have a review of everything pertinent posted before I posted this chapter, but I still don't have working Internet at the new place (yes, MEN SUCK.) Darkling should be coming soon. _

_Xoxo_

_Thanks for sticking it out. _

_Lynne_

_P.S. I totally made my fiance drive me into work to post this at 10:00 this evening. He's pleased. I WILL be getting back to your lovely reviews asap, I've been stranded in the land of NO INTERNET for too damn long.  
_


	17. Chapter 17

_**Disclaimer:** If I own anything other than debt, it's news to me.  
**A/N-** I'm very proud of myself that this didn't take me a month to get through. lol. And I know it sounds repetitive, but I appreciate the feedback (positive, or constructive) more than I can say. Thank you to those of you who've been taking the time to leave it. I will get back to you, if I haven't already. :)_

* * *

The heat of the small child pressed into Nate's side and the almost feverish warmth of the slight woman curled limply in his lap had his shirt clinging to the small of his back. It was worlds removed from the frigid clamminess that he'd been bathed in when he'd woken on the love seat in the old abandoned farmhouse. Or the blinding numbness that had reached through the line to thieve all sensation from him save for the paralyzing fear that skittered down his spine at Vanessa's words.

It was ironic, really. Running into the woman who he'd felt the same sort of... lost indifference toward in his youth that he was only now realizing that Vanessa must have thought he felt for their child. It was the sort of thing that he knew he sometimes took his own sweet time in fully coming to understand. And he would have laughed at the added layer of irony that that in and of itself brought to the situation if his heart were in his chest where it belonged and not in his throat.

He should have known by the way her face crumpled when he'd been struck dumb by their news that her thoughts had taken that path.

No, that was part of the problem. He hadn't been referring to the baby as _theirs_ at all. He'd been distancing himself, holding them both - their child as well as Vanessa - at arms length, thinking in terms of _the_ baby, _the_ child. Not theirs. Not even his. All because he'd been terrified that he wouldn't be what he swore up and down that he would if he ever got the chance. A good father. Better than his own father had been. Better than his own father period. He'd avoided discussions about names, and god parents, and blue versus pink because he'd thought he just needed time to process everything, to prepare himself. To make damn sure he wouldn't ever leave his child wishing his father were dead. That he were the one splattered across the sidewalk instead of his mother. He hadn't been able to take a step forward for fear of becoming his father, of making the same mistakes. So he'd dragged his heals, waiting for that moment of clarity, that sign that would tell him either way if he were doomed to repeat the sins of the man who'd given him half his DNA.

But in the end his inaction had been worse that his father's missteps and mistakes. For all his father's faults, and to create an exhaustive list would require more hours than were are in the day, at least Nate could say that he'd tried. He'd _tried_ to be a good father. He'd _tried _to be a good husband. And looking back now, Nate could even admit that his father had _tried_ talking to his mother about everything that had been boiling beneath his surface for years. His mother hadn't wanted to hear it. Too content in her own skewed reality, and plagued by her own demons (some of which, he could see now, had dogged her for years) to acknowledge the problem. He should have gotten her help, should have brought her to a psychiatrist himself if that's what it took. His father wasn't completely off the hook. No. It was as much his father's fault as it was his mother's. Hell, even Nate's. But that was the point. Blame couldn't be heaped on one set of shoulders alone. _Life_ couldn't be heaped on the set of one shoulders. It was meant to be shared together. Enjoyed together. _Made_ together.

Sighing, Nate began to rock his childhood girlfriend in his lap. They had made a life together, him and Vanessa. In more ways than one. But his anger toward his father had prevailed. Because being angry was easier than being scared. Easier than doing what he should have done in the first place, which was jump in eagerly with both feet and enjoy the joyous moment for what it was, grinning like an idiot. He'd gotten his fiancé pregnant. The woman who had given him back his freedom, his happiness, his _life_ was carrying his baby. A tiny life of their own. He should have been over the moon. They'd always talked about children. But it had been far enough in the future that Nate thought he had time to prepare himself, to learn, to figure it all out.

Grant was right; there wasn't a how to guide on how not to fuck up your children. All you could do was love them unconditionally and hope for the best for all the rest. And he did love this baby, almost as much as he loved its mother. Tears streamed openly down his face, trickling into Blair's mussed hair. He loved them both. His fiancé and his baby, their baby. He couldn't loose either of them. And he knew if Vanessa lost the baby, he had as good as lost them both. She wouldn't be able to forgive him then. It was easy to claim you were ready to be a father, that you loved the tiny life you'd made together if it didn't matter anymore. If she lost the baby it would be too late to show her how much he wanted them both. So he'd trekked throw hail and snow, not allowing himself to waste a millisecond of precious time drinking or eating, to get to her before it was too late. Before she lost the baby. Before they lost the baby. And before he lost them both.

Absently, Nate pressed his lips into Blair's warm temple. It felt good to have someone depend on him, even if it were only to hold them upright as they slept. And he knew it was a stupid thought, but that classification didn't stop him from thinking that maybe, just maybe, if he helped Blair now, maybe it was enough to balance karma's scale and his baby would live. Maybe if he made amends now for the mistakes he'd made at sixteen it would placate the fates and they'd let him keep the only things he would never be able to live without. He had to do something, even if it was just the slow, constant back and forth motion. If he sat idly, just waiting for Grant to search the clinic for Vanessa, than that feeling, that same feeling that just that morning he'd woken up with after dreaming about the captain again; that feeling of chasing and running and chasing, but never getting any closer, would be kept at bay.

Carefully, Nate shifted his weight in the uncomfortable plastic chair until the head of dark haired boy leaning into him fell against the meat of his upper arm instead of the hard bones in his shoulder.

He should have made amends years ago, maybe then this wouldn't all be happening. Holding on to what had happened between Chuck and Blair forever ago had been like a poison slowly strangling him from the inside out. He'd tried with Blair, sending her what his mother had called a 'mother ring' a few months after Charlie had been born. But he'd never received any response to the tiny gold and ruby ring. At first, he'd thought that maybe he'd gotten the birth stone wrong, but his jeweler had assured him that any child born in the month of July would have a Ruby as their stone. He'd eventually just chalked her lack of response up to the fact that the tiny gold band would have resembled a miniature version of the ring he'd given to Blair when they'd first started dating. She probably missed the inscription all together and had thrown the thing into the trash, thinking he was being spiteful and petty.

He hadn't tried with Chuck. And he knew it _was_ petty and spiteful. But he'd never been able to fully let his best friend's betrayal just roll of his back.

Chuck always gotten what he'd wanted. There hadn't been any consequences for him. He knew who he was, he never doubted what it mean to be Chuck Bass. He just knew. He was Chuck Bass. Nate had never had that. He'd never had one defining moment that outlined what it was to be Nathaniel Fitzwilliam Archibald. He'd never felt that he belonged in his own family. Never felt that he belonged in the relationship he'd been in since before he'd hit puberty. He just never felt like he belonged, period. So yes, it was petty and spiteful and very childish of him, but when Chuck had just waltzed into the picture and swept Blair off her feet without even trying, Nate resented it. He'd been trying to make himself feel what he should have for the brunette now nestled in his arms for the better part of his adult life. He hadn't been able to. And he hadn't been able to put the kind of smile on Blair's face that curved her lips behind Chuck's back when she thought no one was looking. It had all been too much for Nate. He hadn't been able to handle it. Especially after his father had left and his mother had committed suicide. He couldn't figure out who he was or where he was supposed to belong when his mother and father were alive. He didn't need the constant reminder that he'd never lived up to his father's expectations in the form of the soon-to-be Blair Bass staring him in the face everyday now that they were dead. So he'd left. And he hadn't been in contact with Chuck since.

The air seemed to shift around him then, drawing his attention over Blair's head to the doorway just down the hall. And it were as if thinking about the man he'd spent the better part of his teenage years getting in and out of trouble with had conjured him up.

"Chuck..." He didn't know why, but he felt like a child caught with his hand in the cookie car. An almost unsupressable urge to stand nearly overwhelmed him as he stared at the rumpled form of his childhood friend.

Slowly, Chuck drew in a breath. It was the only bodily function that he appeared to have retained control over. His blood pressure, pulse – everything had slowed to a crawl.

The hallway was bathed in only the muted light of a single floor lamp, but its sickly yellow glow was enough to hit the highlights. Archibald. Waldorf. A small child. It was like the life she'd always envisioned for herself, he knew. Prince Charming and all the God damn trimmings.

Well she could fucking have it. The tiny surge that he'd felt race from the pit of his stomach to the center of his chest at seeing her draped across Archibald's lap like that, and the raspy voice whispering in his ear to do something; scream, punch - _anything_ to take back what was his, had dissipated nearly as quickly as they had appeared. This was the way it had always been, Nathaniel and Blair. The way it would always be. He couldn't fight it at eighteen and he couldn't fight it now. And he'd momentarily forgotten that he didn't _want _to fight it now, it seemed. But with another sharp intake of breath his brain relinquished control over his bodily functions and the scene that had been playing out in slow motion before him snapped back into real time. He turned on an unsteady heel.

"That's your problem! You never wanted to fight for her!" Shock tackled Chuck from behind and so did Nate's angry words, freezing the progression of his sluggish feet. "You wanted it to be easy! You couldn't get out of your own way for five minutes to see that it was, to see that it could be. You couldn't see, Chuck."

Nate's words sounded desperate to his own ears and he couldn't be sure if it was really Chuck he was yelling at, or himself. But if ever there were a time to voice an opinion it was now. Regardless of who it's intended audience was. Blair stirred in his arms, but the floodgates had already been opened, and the torrent of rushing waters that had been ten years in the making crashed angrily around both men. "Jesus Christ, man! It's the end of the world! When do you think you're going to get another chance at this?!"

Chuck whirled around to face Nate. "Don't you think I don't know that!?" he roared. Stalking forward until he loomed menacingly over Nate, he continued, "Don't you think I'm not fully fucking aware of just what the hell is going on?"He'd watched the thing corrode away at Jeffries' flesh until the poor boy hadn't been more than a fucking puddle. He'd cringed as the wagon had rolled painstakingly slowly over more bodies that he thought was humanly possible. He _knew_. Nate remained stubbornly seated. "I've seen what this thing can do first hand, Archibald. Don't fucking talk to me about-"

Nate shook his head, a disgusted noise escaping his lips, "I'm not talking about the virus, Chuck." He'd been shocked to say the least at Grant's explanation of all this. He'd known the man for years and he hadn't ever expected for the charter that they'd been moving north for Eric to be the antidote for the second coming, or that he'd given Eric the impression that Nate had signed off on the deal. He understood, of course. He'd been too wrapped up in himself – and not just over the past two weeks with everything to do with Vanessa and the baby. He'd closed of that part of his life entirely; anything and everything before Toronto. He hadn't even explained the break in his friendship with Chuck to Vanessa. He'd just amputated it, choosing to leave it in New York. But it had followed him, and when Eric had approached him to include shipments for Bass Industries on their usual northerly jaunts, he'd left the dealings up to Grant. He hadn't wanted to deal with it himself, though he wasn't stupid enough to snub the world's largest conglomeration altogether. Well, enough was enough. Nate would be damned if died with his head up his own ass. "And I think you know that." If this was it, if he was never again going to see another sun rise, he'd damn well spend his last few moments with Vanessa. Even if they were spent in the darkness. "Take her." And he would have passed the drowsy brunette babbling incoherently in his arms to Chuck then, had a tangle of angry bodies not burst from the same door Chuck had only ten minutes ago.

"Every body just calm down!" Jenny cried.

Eric grasped the collar of Arthur's suit jacket. "You son of a bitch! I knew it!"

"Now, if we could all just get along – " Jonathan ducked as Grant's elbow nearly collided with his temple as he reached out to pry Eric's fingers from the elderly man before they made it around his neck.

"Mr. Van der Woodsen, if I may–" Arthur's calm tone was lost in the sea of deafening roars, high pitched screeches, and the sound of glass breaking as the treatment door swung shut behind the group of tussling adults, shattering the wooden door's frosted glass window.

"ENOUGH!" Six pairs of eyes slammed quickly to Chuck's, all filled with varying degrees of anger, confusion, and fear. And one, he noticed, distinctly held an arrogant defiance. "What the hell is going on here?" Like scolded children, all five adults began to twitter at once, pointing fingers and gesturing emphatically at each other as Chuck and Nate looked on. With another loud roar, Chuck held up a hand. "Eric, just fucking tell me what the hell is going on!"

Eric shot an angry glare over Jenny's head at Arthur. "He's working with Malkov."

Arthur spoke quickly before Chuck's fingers could pick up where his sibling's had left off, "I can assure you that's incorrect, Mr. Bass." The doctor that had given Chuck a quick on over before moving on to examine Eric clenched and unclenched a fist at his side.

They didn't have time for this, Chuck decided. The heavy clouds that had threatened to let loose with snow as they'd raced here would burst at any moment. They needed to analyze Humphrey's blood, and … Blair's, though judging by her wilting posture Charlie hadn't gotten his immunity from her, find a vehicle that could make the trip to the secondary warehouse up north in under five hours, and get the hell out of here. NOW. "Eric. Explanation. NOW."

"It's how he knew about this clinic. There's no other explanation."

Jenny shook her head, "That's actually not true. I told him to come."

Arthur nodded. "And I relayed her message to Mr. Gibson."

"And I dragged the lad here," Grant confirmed, referring to his and Nate's sudden presence in the tucked away clinic.

Chuck stood in a cloud of confusion. What the fuck was going on here? Was everyone working with Alexei? Was he actually lying unconscious somewhere in a puddle of his own urine and flesh, hallucinating? Intent on tearing whoever he needed to a new asshole, Chuck took a wobbly step forward, but the sound of Nate clearing his throat from behind him stopped him.

Grant immediately moved to skirt the group, but Jonathan reached out a hand, halting him, "I don't think so. No body moves until we get this figured out." But Chuck, having read the expression on Nate's face, had already limped his way back across the hallway, over the carpet of glass that had scattered across the linoleum, through the doorway that Grant had had his sights set on, and was slowly, very carefully hobbling his way toward Nate, an unconscious Vanessa in his arms.

"Sir, I would not advise --"

"Chuck, your back!"

"Jesus, Bass. Don't move her!"

But Chuck ignored them all. He didn't know why he'd done it. He hadn't even registered that he was until she'd already been in his arms. And he very well might regret it later, most likely would if the sharp pains that the constant tingling down his spine had given way to were any indication, but Nate had been right. It was the end of the world, and just because he warranted burning in his own private hell for everything he'd done, didn't mean Nate deserved to. And it was written across his face as clearly as if the words themselves appeared in the soot stained skin of his forehead that losing Vanessa would be just that. Hell.

Nate's breath caught in his throat. She was alive. She was here. At some point before he'd arrived they'd changed her into a thin paper gown held around her only by a blue paper sash, and her skin was three shades too pale, but she was alive and she was here. He needed to touch her, to feel her against his skin. But Blair was still in his arms, and the boy was still leaning into his side. Chuck was straining in front of him under Vanessa's slight weight, and Nate wanted desperately to hold her, but he could feel the heavy weight of the moment settling in the air, Chuck holding his fiancé, and him holding Chuck's... Blair. The gesture wasn't lost on Nate. It was a gesture he himself should have made years ago, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to do so. Neither could he bring himself to stand and risk the boy leaning into him toppling over or falling to the ground; he was done being selfish. But he knew his heart would stop beating in his chest at any moment if he spent one more second without his nose buried in Vanessa's hair.

Jonathan hurried over to where Nate sat and flicked a glance between the two men before he lifted Blair into his arms. Chuck nodded curtly, reluctantly thanking the man as he placed Vanessa in Nate's lap. Nate choked out a strangled half sigh/half cry and buried his face in the crook of Vanessa's neck, rocking her slowly to and fro. There was an awkward, and very pregnant pause, as Chuck straightened and faced the man who held Blair. His hands twitched at his sides slightly, reaching out to take her from his arms, but they seemed to think better of it and jerked back against his body at the last second, just as Jonathan took a half step back from him, almost imperceptibly tucking Blair closer to his body.

Chuck yanked his hands from the pockets he'd slipped them into. "I'll take her," he told the doctor, moving forward. The group of adults looked on as Jonathan shook his head, taking another half step backward.

"Wouldn't do your injuries good to be lugging around this one." Chuck's jaw tightened. Blair looked as if she weighed no more than a sack of potatoes. When sopping wet. "What kind of doctor would I be if I let you go and paralyze yourself permanently?" Jonathan sent a quick thank you to whatever higher power hadn't changed the channel yet and was still watching that Blair was too incoherent to have voiced her opinion on that one. Though she did stir at the words. Which relieved the tension that had started to twist his shoulder muscles into knots. She wasn't completely unconscious, which meant that as long as he examined her quickly he might have a chance of stopping whatever it was that had her limp in his arms in its tracks.

Chuck didn't answer. He stared at Jonathan. Jonathan stared at Chuck. And then a terrified cry shattered the eerie silence that hand fallen over the group as Zach bolted upright in his plastic chair and threw up blood all over Nate and Vanessa. Acting on instincts that had gone unused over the last ten years, Chuck quickly scooped up the child, ignoring the now nearly debilitating pains radiating from his neck to his toes, and tucked him into his chest.

"I wouldn't have done that if I were you," Jonathan's ominous warning was met a dark look over Zach's head. Chuck retort died on his lips as Zach brought up more blood against what had once been his pink dress shirt. "They boy's infected...And now so are the lot of you. If you weren't already before."

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A/N - Ok, I know. I'm not doing it on purpose, I SWEAR. I'll post the next part as quickly as possible. They will talk, Lynne promises. :)

XOXO

Lynne


	18. Chapter 18

_**Disclaimer:** Same as before.  
**A/N-** As promised, they talk. I'm really nervous about this chapter. Your thoughts are much appreciated. Please don't hesitate to let me know what you think. Good or bad. *gulps*_

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Eric sat shivering in the corner of the tiny treatment room. Everything seemed to have moved at the speed of light after the little boy – Zach he'd heard the doctor say at one point – had regurgitated blood all over his brother, and Nate and Vanessa. Chuck and the taller doctor had snapped into action, both calling out demands and ordering everyone around. Eric had thought they would it had come to blows at one point, but Chuck seemed to remember that neither of their arms were empty at the moment and had turned his attention back to screaming and demanding that everyone get into the tiny room they were in now. The doctor had locked the door behind them, though Eric though it pointless considering the gapping whole where the window used to be could easily accommodate a fully grown human being if it needed to, and had pried the tiny window above his head open. There had been frantic movements as Jenny rushed forward to pry Zach from Chuck's arms and Eric had held his breath when she had, expecting the eruption of tortured emotion that had come nearly ten years ago when the situation had been all too similar. But it never had. Instead Chuck had allowed Jenny's fingers to make quick work of handing Zach off to Eric and then of removing his blood soaked shirt. Her actions were pointless, and Chuck's eyes had met Eric's over the blonde woman's head in acknowledgement of the fact, because whatever damage the boy had done had already taken hold, and he was still left sitting in his blood stained undershirt. But the doctor seemed to think that being colder helped the situation somehow, and he refused to allow Jenny to wrap Chuck in the same sort of paper gown they'd clothed Vanessa in.

"Alright folks, this is how this is going to work." The doctor moved to the center of the tiny room as he spoke. He'd settled Blair on a gurney he'd ordered Arthur to fetch from the next room over, and had shoved his hands into surgical gloves the minute they'd been free. Like it was going to do him any good. Eric disliked the lanky man immediately. "I want to know who you are and what you have to do with the virus, and then I want your blood. Nobody is getting out of here until we know just what the hell we are dealing with. Understood?"

"He's Jonathan. Quasi doctor and all around asshole." Blair's weak voice drew all attention to the center of the room. "Or Sasha, whatever. Asshole is still applicable." The doctor chuckled to himself as he plunged the needled into Eric's forearm.

"That's my, Joanie. Flat on her back and still spitting fire. My kind of woman."

Eyes closed from sheer exhaustion, Blair continued, "Knows little J somehow, brother is the Big Bad." Her words were slightly slurred to Eric's ears, and he wondered just what the hell the pills the doc had forced down her throat a few minutes ago had been. "Sorta, kinda, maybe had something to do with the virus. Green eyes, nice butt, not a half bad tongue on him either." All eyes flicked discretely from the drunk sounding woman to Chuck's face. His jaw was clenched, but he kept his eyes forward. "Little J is a lying little --"

"Ok, Princess," Eric noticed Chuck's jaw clench further at that, "I think I can handle it from here." Gloved hands handed Arthur the sample of Eric's blood, then moved to extract samples from both Nate and Vanessa. Once he'd quickly pricked everyone in the room, including the semi conscious Blair and fully unconscious Zach, he turned to Grant and asked, "Grant, right?" Grant nodded, and he continued, "Do me a favour and hold down our man here for a minute would you?" Eric noticed that he didn't call Chuck by name. "Trust me, soldier," Jonathan continued when Grant hesitated. "He isn't going to want to hear what I have to say." And the look that flashed in his green eyes was just a little too cold for Eric's liking.

Chuck surged to his feet. "Now you wait just one God damn minute you son of a --"

And then everyone and everything seemed to surge into fast forward again. Jenny squealed and jumped out of the way as Chuck lunged at Jonathan. Nate turned with Vanessa still in his arms to shield her from the needles and suture kits that went flying as the blur that was Chuck and the doctor crashed to the ground. Grant rocketed to his feet, and with one hand, tossed Chuck over his shoulder, bringing him face to face with Blair, who at the commotion around her had finally found the energy to push herself upright.

"Chuck?" Eric watched, frozen in his chair with Jenny's nails digging into his shoulders, as Blair reached out a hand and poked Chuck's cheek like a drunk trying to decipher fantasy from reality. "I'm dead, aren't I? This is Hell, right?" And then Blair's face seemed to turn green, and her stomach followed Zach's example and emptied itself, vomit and bile splattering against Chuck's pant legs as Grant whipped around at the guttural sounds she was making.

Yes, this was hell.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Benson watched through the tiny opening that some dick head architect had deemed big enough to be a window as the room's occupants scattered.

He'd followed Sasha's stench until it had led him to the nondescript grey hunk of concrete, and only had to make his way around half the building before he'd come across what he was looking for. His dear friend hadn't disappointed. Bass and the Bitch. Together in one room. He fingered the zipper of his jeans as he watched the Bitch bolt upright as the Basstard tackled Sasha. Her heavy sweater obscured the outline of her small breasts, but he knew they were there. He felt himself strain against the inseam of his pants just thinking about how they would look torn from her body as he split her pussy with his cock with Bass looking helplessly on.

And judging by the chaos just those few measly feet away from him, he was just about to be handed the opportunity to do just that.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

What the hell was she doing? She was barefoot for fuck's sake! Blair cringed as a shard of glass embedded itself into the ball of her foot. Again she wondered what the hell she – no, not _she. _Her _feet._ What the hell her _feet_ were doing. It had been them that had carried her out of that tiny room after Chuck. She'd had nothing to do with it. It it were up to her, she'd have let Jenny clean the vomit from her over sized sweat shirt and have accepted the pills that Jonathan had called after her that she would need, since she'd thrown up the ones he'd just given her. But it obviously wasn't up to her. Or else she would be vomit free, happily full of pills, and awaiting the results of the blood tests that would tell her just how much longer she had to live. Not to mention whatever else was wrong with her that had her stumbling like a drunk down the hallway and vomiting on every male within a meter radius. No, it was up to her frakking feet. And they were carrying her down the hallway after Chuck Bass of all people without the slightest of reasons...

Ok, fuck it. She was tired of all this. Tired of all the lieing to herself, of ignoring it, tired of pretending like it had never happened. Yes, her feet had a reason to chase down Chuck. He'd hurt her. He'd hurt her more than she'd been willing to admit at eighteen. More than she'd been willing to acknowledge even at twenty eight. She'd fallen head over heels in love with the bastard, despite all the reasons why she shouldn't have; her mother, his best friend..._him, _and had made the mistake of thinking that it just might not have been the end of the world to actually admit it to herself. But then Charlie... and when she'd needed Chuck the most, he'd disappeared. Like her mother had warned her he would. Like she'd told her she'd deserved. So yes, her feet had a reason to carry her down the hallway after him. And her brain had a reason to conjure up every possible scenario in which she'd castrate him as slowly as possible without anesthesia. He'd hurt her. And if it was the last thing she did, she'd tear a strip off him for doing it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chuck paced the tiny storage room. He'd fought with Grant until the burly man had finally set him on his wobbly feet and then he'd done something he would forever be ashamed of. He'd run. Like he'd done ten years ago after Charlie's death. His father would be ashamed of him too if he were still alive. Part of Chuck was glad he wasn't. And the other part was glad for the fact that he himself probably wouldn't be alive longer than the five hours the virus took to eat him from the inside out. His laugh was humorless at that and he wondered if the virus' progression would be quicker due to the fact that he didn't have any insides left to be eaten away. Blair Waldorf had seen to it.

"Fucking Asshole!" Blair burst through the cold storage room's door. She'd contemplated exactly what her first words to him in ten years were going to be. 'What the hell is your fucking problem?' had been a top contender until she'd realized it was too cliché, and that it would probably take more will power than she possessed to get through before she strangled him, and she wanted to get through everything else she had to say before her skin touched his. Touching him always sidetracked her. No matter how hoping mad or how boiling her blood was. Always. So 'fucking asshole' had won out. Because it was shorter. And because it conveyed exactly what she wanted it to. He was a fucking asshole. A fucking asshole that had reduced her to a sniveling puddle of tears when he'd left her alone to deal with...

She couldn't even bring herself to think it now. The pain was still too raw.

And it was his fault.

He didn't jump. He didn't yell back or throw anything like she'd expected him to. He just stood there, looking at her like she'd kicked his dog, or burnt the scarf that used to hang around his neck. And it pissed her off. He didn't have the right. This was his fault. "What, nothing to say for yourself?" She didn't need to explain any further. They both knew he knew what she was asking. "No quick witted remark to match the other..." her eyes glanced pointedly at his crotch, "_quick_ parts of your anatomy?" Low blow, she knew. But she didn't care. It was his fault. It had to be his fault. His fault. It had to be his fault. Because if it wasn't his fault, then it was hers.

He still didn't respond. Standing in the middle of the cramped room, in his undershirt and boxers, having obviously divested himself of his vomit drenched pants at some point, he remained silent. Just staring at her. "God dammit, Chuck! Answer me!" And when he finally did, she wished he hadn't.

"Was he even mine, Blair?"

"You son of a bitch. You know he was!"

"Do I?" And the way he'd asked it, with such measured deliberateness, let her know that he had known. But not just because she'd told him that she hadn't been with anyone else when she'd found out she was pregnant. No, he spoke with the self assured confidence of a man who knew without a shadow of a doubt that the child she'd bore had been his.

"You had him tested?" When his silence answered her, furry had her feet leaving bloody footprints on the cold cement and her tiny fists beating an enraged tattoo against his chest. She wasn't the only one deliberately trying to wound, it seemed. "He was sick! He had enough people prodding him and poking him with needles!" Tears clogged her throat, making her voice huskier than it should have been. "He didn't need anybody else doing one more God damn test on him! He didn't need you doubting his paternity, I told you! I told you I didn't sleep with Nate! It was you! It's always been you!" And she hoped he didn't hear the admission in her voice, or see it in her eyes just then. His chest rose and fell quickly under the hands that had defied her and sprawled themselves against his chest instead of remaining in the tightly clenched fists she'd told them to. Licking his lips, he drew his eyes from hers down to lips that trembled under his intense gaze, but the warmth that had gathered in the pit of her stomach bottomed out.

In her hand she still held the necklace that Sasha/Jonathan had pressed into her palm before he'd disappeared after Jenny into the treatment room.

_Jenny insisted we give Eleanore a proper burial... It was as close as we could get._

My God, they'd buried her at sea. The sack she'd nearly drowned risking her life for, the one that had wrapped its burlap tentacles around her ankle, dragging her under, hadn't been Serena at all. It had been Eleanor.

Chuck watched the emotions flicker across her face. Something had changed. He'd recognized the hatred in her eyes when she'd first come bursting through the door, guns blazing. And he'd resented it. He knew it was his fault. If he had of taken better care of her during her pregnancy, paid more attention to her instead of worrying about himself, and throwing the pity party that never ended over loosing his best friend, and everything else linked to becoming a father at seventeen, then maybe Charlie wouldn't have been sick. Maybe he would have been healthy. Maybe he wouldn't have died. And maybe Bart wouldn't have been in the limo on his way to the hospital to say his last goodbye to his grandchild when that drunk driver had come careening down Fifth Avenue. Chuck knew it was his fault. He didn't need her throwing it in his face. So he'd hit back where he knew it would hurt her. And she'd been angry. But looking into her eyes now, it wasn't anger that he was seeing. And it wasn't the embers of desire that he'd seen flash momentarily behind her irises that was burning there now. He couldn't place it, exactly, but as his eyes followed hers and landed on the necklace that was pressed against his chest by one of her tiny palms, he knew the reason for it.

Nathaniel.

"Was it? Was it always me, Blair?" But she didn't have time to follow the severe swing of his mood, because Jonathan swooped through the door then, and the look on his arrogant face told Blair that he and Arthur had somehow finished their batteries of tests.

And the news wasn't good.

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A/N - I may or may not have spent the entire day writing this instead of cooking the supper I was supposed to. After I made him drive me in and everything. I'll be on the hook for tonight. Let's hope it was worth it...

Lynne


	19. Chapter 19

I own nothing.  
I've been ill and injured. Please pardon the wait with this one. I haven't had time to reply to reviews as of yet. I will shortly. This was written whilst slightly medicated. I feel the warning is needed. Thank you for the time you take to read and review. Always means the world.

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Nate sat with Vanessa huddled against his chest, watching as Blair fled the room after Chuck. It was probably the first time in nearly ten years that he'd seen them in the same room. Longer, he knew, since he'd heard either of their voices addressing the other personally. Granted, it had been ten years since he'd been in New York, and one had everything to do with the other, but as he watched Blair's hurried half stumble/half limp he couldn't help but be struck by the oddest of feelings. It was as if they'd only last seen each other a just yesterday. Not a decade ago. The surge of rage he'd expected to see in both their eyes was missing. And in its presence was something almost akin to...

He couldn't put his finger on it.

It was probably just him. He'd had Vanessa in his arms for nearly twenty minutes now and he hadn't been able to bring himself to even think about asking the hard question. Anytime his tired brain would stray down the path of something deeper, something life threatening, his thoughts would slam on the brakes and jump tracks. He'd mentally balanced his checkbook, made next weeks grocery list, and remembered where that spare set of keys was that he'd been looking for last month. He knew he had to ask the question eventually. But if he didn't ask it, then he didn't have to hear the answer he knew he'd be met with. And he could keep living in his self created bubble of ignorant bliss.

The door slammed loudly after Blair, breaking the spell of stunned stillness that everyone else had apparently fallen under. Grant clamped a beefy hand down on the doctor's shoulder, stopping him when Nate knew by the stiffness the action created in his shoulders that he'd rather go after her, and Nate's sluggish brain finally managed overcome the endless hurdles.

"Eric?" Nate shifted closer to Eric in his seat. The other man turned blue eyes on him, absently rocking the unconscious child that Jenny had placed in his arms. Taking a deep breath, Nate readied himself. This was it. In another sixty seconds he would know. In less than a minute the bubble would burst and reality would come rushing in. His tongue felt as if he'd been to the dentist and they'd frozen half his mouth. But he'd mentally torn a strip off Chuck for walking around with his head up his ass, and Nate had spent enough of his twenty eight years neck deep in his own sphincter. "Vanessa …"

Eric nodded, his uncomfortable stance, trouble swallowing, and averted gaze telling Nate he'd known about the pregnancy. He kept forgetting that he'd agreed in passing (at least he thought he had, nodding absently while trying to keep his brain from processing just what it was that Vanessa was saying hadn't exactly left him the most informed party) that telling Dan and Jenny their news would somehow be good for them. Jenny had obviously let the news slip to Eric. "She was bleeding pretty badly when I found her. The doctor was able to clean her up and get some fluids into her..." … But. ...But ...? Nate could sense it coming. That one tiny little word that would change everything. "...But..." And there it was. Deep breaths were doing nothing to calm him now. "The doctor couldn't find a sonogram machine or fetal Doppler to...uh to... so he'd sent Chuck to look for one down the hall...but... uh..."

Hold the phone... did that mean that there even _was_ a chance that she hadn't lost the baby? Breath hitching in his throat, Nate's eyes flew to the back of the doctor's head as the other man muscled his way past Grant and disappeared through the doorway. He half vaulted from his seat before he seemed to realize that he couldn't very well chase mount a search with his injured fiancée in this arms. "Eric-"

Eric nodded, understanding the pleading undertone of the single word and cut Nate off before he made the request. "I'll find it." And then lips that had struggled to form words were pressed into a determined line and hands that had shook nervously as he'd rocked Zach in his lap were steady as Eric passed the sleeping child over to Jenny. "I'll find it," Eric repeated, the loud slam of solid wood door against solid wood frame emphasizing his determination.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eyes almost unnaturally dark watched Blair as her palms quickly dropped from Chuck's chest. She wasn't sure why, but she felt like she felt she'd been caught red handed. Caught doing _what – _and with _who, _exactly_ – _she wasn't sure.

She'd known Chuck practically all her life; they'd be engaged at one point. Loosely, and without anything really resembling a proposal passing his lips, or anything that could ever be deemed to be jewelry exchanging hands, true. But engaged regardless. Christ they'd had... Charlie. She could damn well have a conversation – ream him out, actually – if she damn well pleased. She didn't owe Jonathan an explanation. Her life, maybe, but not an explanation.

And Jonathan! He'd saved her life! She could damn well... Well, she could damn well do whatever the hell she wanted with that arrogant ass. She didn't owe Chuck anything. Not one fucking thing. Except maybe a swift kick to the balls right before she hoped on a plane to God knew where. But certainly not an explanation.

At least she shouldn't feel like she owed either of them an explanation. Squaring her shoulders, Blair turned to face Jonathan head on. "What is it Johnny?" The nick name slipped past her lips before she could register her intent to wield it like a weapon. Chuck stiffened.

Jonathan looked from Chuck, who'd taken a possessive half step toward Blair and was glaring daggers back at him, to Blair. Wordlessly, he stalked forward until Blair was forced to crane her neck to see his face. Frustrated anger radiated off Blair as she folded her arms across her chest, the still damp material of her sweatshirt plastering itself against her small breasts.

"What's wrong?" she questioned. His expression only darkened. Nerves had Blair's shaky palm pressing against Jonathan's chest, demanding his attention when he refused to drag his challenging glare from Chuck. Had the results come in already? Was she infected? It would explain what the side effects of being without her medication couldn't.

Was Chuck infected?

Unconsciously, Chuck's palm found its way to the small of Blair's back. When his skin came into contact with the icy material, it alerted him to the movement. And Blair too, it seemed, as her spine stiffened noticeably. She didn't turn to face him or move to swat his hand away, but neither did she drop her palm from the good doctor's chest. And for reasons Chuck hadn't allowed himself to dwell on, had so much as outright denied only a few hours past, her tiny hand against the other man's chest burnt him.

"Price, dammit!" But Jonathan didn't answer. Instead, his fingers bruised Blair's skin as they gripped her outstretched wrist.

Bending so that his shoulder hit Blair's midsection, Jonathan yanked her over his shoulder and wordlessly stalked back out of the tiny storage room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jenny hefted Zach higher against her chest so that his head lolled against the hollow between her neck and shoulder and not against her collarbone. She wasn't sure what had transpired just now between the two blonde men that had Zach being thrust into her arms. Just like she wasn't 100% sure as to what had had happened to have Chuck racing out of the room like that with Blair hot on his heels. Yes, she knew about their past. She'd lived it. But there was something about the way the air changed when they came face to face that left her feeling like an outsider. Almost like she was intruding on a private, intimate moment, prying into something that was none of her business. It left her oddly unsettled.

She was beginning to suspect that the heavy moment had something to do with that day three months ago in Paris. Blair had come back from shopping devoid off all packages. She hadn't even picked up the boots that Jenny would have bet every lock of her blonde hair that wild horses couldn't have kept the brunette from purchasing. And she'd been missing a high heel to boot. But she'd waltzed through the hotel lobby like it were any other day, and so Jenny hadn't commented on her disheveled appearance or lack of shopping bags. Or tilted gait. She'd learned long ago if it wasn't something Blair Waldorf wanted to talk about, Blair Waldorf would not talk about it. (Case and point: Eleanor Waldorf's apparent blindness.)

But neither Paris nor Eleanor explained why the hell nobody seemed to remember just where they were, or who exactly was after them.

Benson was insatiable. It was only a matter of time before the son of a bitch found them. And what would he find? Sitting ducks! They were scattered, injured, and distracted. They might as well just slit their own throats and save themselves the torture that was sure to meet them at Benson's hand.

Jenny shivered. The tiny crack in the window above Eric's head was giving entrance to just enough frigid, damp air that it was speckling her arms with goosebumps. This was ridiculous. They should be getting out of dodge, not handing the psychopath a signed invitation to murder them all. What did it even matter who was infected at this point? Why was Jonathan insisting on spending valuable time and effort huddled over equipment so antique it would have outdated her grandmother, if she were still alive? By the time they figured out just who was infected and who wasn't, they would all either be dead or as good as dead; from what Johnny had told her the quickest he could conceive of fabricating an antidote, if all variables converged and allowed him to do so, would be no less than two hours. And that was being generous, she knew.

Jenny's gaze landed on the little red filled tubes lined up on the counter next to Arthur's elbow. Including the one that Arthur had just prepared a microscope slide from, there were eleven. But there were only ten of them...

"Why are there eleven blood samples?" she asked. Grant startled at her words, only then seeming to realize that they rang true and that there was indeed a surplus of samples. Arthur did not spare her a look. Instead, his attention remained focused through the eyepiece lens of the microscope. "There are only ten of us. Jenny, Jonathan, Eric, Blair, Nate, Vanessa, Chuck, Zach, Grant and you. Ten. _Why_ are there eleven?" she repeated emphatically, rising with Zach in her arms to pace before Arthur when he refused to acknowledge her. "Arthur!"

Finally, Arthur spared her a fleeting glance. Making a quick notation on the back of a book that Grant had found in a drawer, he answered, "Mr. Van der Woodsen obtained another sample in the field, Miss. Jennifer."

In the field? Like it was some sort of scientific experiment. Like it wasn't life and death! Jonathan had insisted that Arthur was the right man for the job. He had experience with the virus and had access enough to Chuck to get them all the information they would need to thwart Alexei's plans. Why they hadn't just gone straight to Chuck in the first place...

Wait... Who was the other 'subject'? There would only be two reasons to test the person's blood. Infection...

Or Immunity.

"Whose blood is it, Arthur? Where did Eric find them? Why aren't they here?" The questions lunged at Arthur, one barely finishing its attack before the other took its place, but Arthur chose to answer one she hadn't asked.

"There is a chance that the man who... _provided_ the sample may have been immune to the affects of the virus."

Breath escaping her lungs to avoid being trampled by her racing pulse, Jenny asked,"Who?" What were the chances that they'd run into the one person who could save them all? It was too good to be true. "Wh-" And the words died on her lips as the initials scrawled in Arthur's nearly illegible hand writing jumped off the page. J.H., J.P., ., N.A., V.A., Z., G.G., A. W., C.B., B.W. And D.H.. D.H... Daniel Humphrey? "Where is he, Arthur? Where's my brother?" Caught uncharacteristically off guard by the speed with which Jenny put two and two together, Arthur swallowed.

"He's dead, Miss. Jennifer."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blair dug her nails into the taut flesh down Jonathan's back. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" The temptation to sink her teeth into the same skin her fingernails were currently embedded in coursed through her veins. Only the realization that he could be infected stopped her eye teeth from drawing his blood. "God dammit, Johnny! Put me down!"

"Price!" Chuck roared, infusing the surname Blair had spat only seconds before with fire and ice as his feet pounded the cement flooring after them.

But Jonathan didn't respond. Keeping the kicking and screaming Blair held too tightly in place, he merely continued his silent, hurried trek back toward the treatment room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nate was beginning to get worried. He knew Eric couldn't have been gone longer than five minutes, but he'd finally been able to ask the question and now that he had, being denied his answer was unbearable. Especially if there was even the smallest of chances that V was still pregnant, that she hadn't lost the baby. That he hadn't lost them both.

The windowless door slammed again. Nate jumped, expecting to see Eric holding some sort of contraption that would tell him what he wanted to hear, but only caught a glimpse of Jenny hurrying down the hallway, obviously upset. "What's wrong with Jenny?" He'd been too absorbed in his own thoughts to even register that there had been a commotion on the other side of the small room.

Grant slid a quick glance at Arthur, absently pushing hair from the face of the little boy that was now in his arms. Grant swallowed hard. He didn't want to have to burden Nate with anything more than he had to; the lad had only recently returned to the land of the coherent himself. And Vanessa needed him to stay that way... But the glint edging its way into the dark circles that were Nate's eyes told Grant that the light had finally gone on for the boy.

"Grant, just how did we end up here?"

Absently pushing hair from the face of the little boy that was now in his arms, Grant slid a glance a sideways glance toward Arthur. "Don't get yourself excited," the bearded pilot told Nate, eyes averted. He'd only told the younger man that he knew Vanessa hadn't been in the apartment building when it'd burnt to the ground and Nate had been too focused on the word 'Vanessa' to question him. He'd followed hot on Grant's heels until they'd reached the nondescript building, only now pausing long enough to consider how it was that Grant had known where V would be. "It's not what you're thinking, lad."

Nate wasn't sure what he was thinking. He hadn't really stopped to think about anything since he'd surged into the storm, intent on getting to Vanessa. How did Grant even know Arthur?

Grant shifted Zach's weight easily to his left arm and held up his right hand when Nate's expression turned suspicious. "When Mr. Van der Woodsen contacted you about a month ago. You told me to handle it in your name, yes?" Nate nodded, suspicion subsiding to confusion. "Well, the kid apparently thought he was dealing with you. By the time I realized, it was too late to correct the assumption. I just let it slide. Anyway, about two weeks ago-" right around the same time V had first told him about the baby, Nate realized -"I contacted Mr. Van der Woodsen to let him know one of his boxes had been accidentally left behind on the last shipment. He had his assistant, Arthur, instruct me to keep the package at your apartment. I refused under the pretense that I was in fact you until he told me just what the package was." Grant shook his head disbelievingly. "I didn't believe him at first. And when I asked him to prove it...long story short, he figured out I wasn't actually Mr. Archibald." Confusion once again relinquished its hold on Nate's facial expressions to suspicion. Grant shrugged. "I can't explain it any better, lad. Cell service went back up sometime just before three and I received the text from Arthur telling me he was bringing Vanessa here shortly after. I don't know much else, Nate. I didn't question him, I just wanted to get you to V as quickly as possible. You still haven't taken two seconds to eat anything since we've arrived." The last was added as an after thought, as if it just occurred to Grant.

And then there wasn't time for anything but reacting as everything seemed to happen at once. Eric came racing through the door, wires and a small plastic box in his hands. Chuck came barreling through the door backward, shouting at Jonathan who charged in after him, Blair slung over his shoulder. Surging to his feet to insert himself between Chuck and Jonathan, Grant momentarily forgot that his lap wasn't empty, and had to lunge after Zach. Beefy hands caught the little boy just in time, but not before they flailed wildly, knocking the ancient microscope to the floor. Once again safe in Grant's embrace, and cocooned in ear splitting noise as shouts and screams leaped angrily from everyone in the room, Zach began convulsing. Blood leaked from his ears and dribbled from the corners of his mouth, but Nate didn't register any of it. Not the wild look in Chuck's eyes, not the shattering of plastic and glass against linoleum. Not even the sound of the window above his head being forced open another inch. None of it. Every cell in his body was focused on the green-eyed woman in his arms who had finally opened her eyes and spoken his name.

"Fitz?"

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For those of you also following Darkling, I'm working on it. Slow going. I blame the pain killers.

Lynne


	20. Chapter 20

:) *NOPE! I HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN ABOUT MAHOGANY OR DARKLING. DARKLING IS OPEN ON THE LAPTOP NOW, MAHOGANY **MAY** BE UPDATED WITHIN THE WEEK. I MAKE NO PROMISES. THANK YOU FOR THE CONTINUED INTEREST. * :D.

**Disclaimer:** _I own nothing._

**_A/N_ - I'm much happier with this chapter than the last. Thank you to those who stuck through that last crap fest with me! Thoughts on this chapter?  
**

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Blair slammed her fists into Jonathan's back. Or Sasha's – whatever. She was equally furious with both at this point.

"Put me down!"

He was taking this too far. The caveman carry was too much. Sweeping her off her feet would have been one thing – and she refused to entertain that small sliver of her that would have, for reasons she would have likened to temporary insanity, had her wandering thoughts venturing down the path of utilizing the action as a weapon.

She was over love triangles. So over their sordid triteness that they appeared to her as tiny cities spotted amongst the country side from a tiny airplane window.

She was no longer seventeen. No longer naïve enough to believe that the push and pull and biting and spitting would end any other way than it always had. With an ending. She'd been left sitting on the tiny bed, the blinds drawn until the blurry haze enveloped the room the same it did her the last time she'd been a point in a triangle. It may not have been the ending to the geometric figure that everyone else had expected, nor the end would deem to be the its actual ending, for that matter, but it was their true ending. Their final end. Their last stand. The moment Charlie's heart had stopped beating it had cut any ties that held her to him. Chuck had seen to that. With his mission to get to the bottom of as many liquor bottles as he could find before pouring himself into his private jet and disappearing to God knows where for months.

But like she'd said, Blair was over it.

Kicking her feet against Jonathan's flat stomach, and coming dangerously close to sterilizing him, she screamed, "Sa-"

"Price!" Chuck roared, drowning out the sound of Blair's voice from even her own ears. The windowless treatment room door cracked against Chuck's back. He ignored it. Sidestepping Blair's failing feet, he demanded; "What the fuck do you thi-"

An explosion of sound buried Chuck's outburst as he charged backward into the room.

Nate jolted to his feet. "Eric!"

Glass crunched under Chuck's feet as Jonathan's progressive charge forced him further into the room. "Put her down!" His shoulder blade came into contact with Eric's back, and the latter tripped over his own feet, nearly dropping the precious package he held in his hands.

"The microscope-" Arthur managed to exclaim before he was cut off by the spitfire slung over the good doctor's shoulder.

"Jonathan!" The smug bastard didn't respond. Glaring at Chuck the entire way, he cross the room until he came to plastic chair adjacent to the one Nate had just vacated and unceremoniously flopped her into its cold embrace. Blair considered pulling Johnny's hair, but thought better of it. A well placed kick to the groin when he was least expecting it later would be much more satisfying, she decided.

Grant felt jerky movement against his chest and averted his eyes from the two men whose actions he'd been tracking. "Fuck! He's convulse-" he sputtered, alarm cutting the word short.

"I swear to God, Price, if you don't tell me just what the hell is going on-"

Ignoring all but the sea of light green staring up at him and the shallow but steady whooshing of breath past Vanessa's lips, Nate crossed to the center of the room. Chaos reigned around him. Chuck barked orders that Jonathan didn't heed, Blair screeched angrily, alternating the target of her onslaught between the the two brunettes. Nate set Vanessa down gently on the examination table. Her eyes held questions that he couldn't answer. Without dragging his gaze from her watery one, Nate signaled Eric.

Eric's throat worked as he swallowed. Glass crunched under his feet, but the sound went unnoticed amidst the frequencies ping ponging off the stark walls.

Behind Nate, Chuck jabbed a finger into Jonathan's chest. "Look, I don't what the fuck you think you're doing, but-"

"Chuck, stay out of this!"

Chuck whirled to face Blair. "I'm sorry? He hauls you over his shoulder like some fucking knuckle dragger and you're _defending_ him?"

Nate held his breath and Vanessa's hand as Eric fiddled with the contraption.

Vanessa didn't speak. Words would have formed on her tongue had she asked them too. She'd awoken in Nate's arms, unsure of her surroundings, but vividly aware of two things: her lungs were on fire and she was no longer bleeding.

"This is going to be cold," Eric told her apologetically. Vanessa nodded, swallowing against the onslaught of tears. When he realized he couldn't lift her gown without exposing her, Eric tore a hole in the paper garment and squirted the jelly he'd found in the same drawer as the Doppler over her still slightly rounded midsection.

"I'm not defending him!" Blair returned. Chuck scowled.

"Sure as hell-"

Blair surged to her feet, cutting Chuck off as Jonathan looked on, amused. "Sure as hell what, Bass? Even if I was – it's no business of yours!"

Nate lifted Vanessa's hand to his lips and pressed reassuring kisses across her knuckles. He wanted to tell her he loved her, tell her he loved their child before it was too late again to ever say the words, but the frozen tongue sensation he'd felt earlier had only intensified until his tongue lay useless in his mouth. Instead, he continued to coat every inch of the back of her hand in light kisses, hoping that they would convey what he couldn't verbally.

Grant wildly searched the room for a place to lay Zach. Finding none, lay the child on the cold, linoleum floor. He wasn't sure how much longer the boy had. He was paler than anyone should ever be and his skin had begun to take on a waxy quality that had fear tightening in Grant's chest. He swore under his breath. His fingers vibrated as he pressed them against the Zach's thready pulse. It was weakening, slowing to a faint twitch beneath Grant's firm pressure. He needed to... do something. Anything. What was he supposed to do? Arthur crouched down beside him then, and Grant sighed audibly. The creepy old bugger unsettled Grant with his unwavering monotone and unending proper vocabulary, but he was the closest thing to an authority on the virus that they had. Or the doctor was. Grant wasn't sure, but he didn't care as long as _somebody_ helped the boy!

"You don't get to have an opinion!" Blair tried to stop her jaw from clenching. It wasn't any of his business! She could do what she damn well pleased. And she was stupid if she listened to that insane fraction of her clearly delusional self that was insisting on making noise about precisely why it was that he cared. Because he didn't care. And she didn't care if he did or didn't. There was not any caring between them. Currently or otherwise. He didn't get to care. He'd left her then, splintered into a million jagged pieces, and he'd fled the second they'd come face to face for the first time in practically a decade.

And she'd been moronic enough to chase after him like some.... flighty little twit!

No. She's chased after him to give him a piece of her mind. (And not the piece that would mutter incorrect statements whilst inebriated, attempting to _explain _or _defend_ his behaviour all those years ago.) To tear him several new assholes.

He didn't get to care. And she wouldn't be the main attraction at his circus again. She wouldn't be thrust into his sick, twisted game. If he found pleasure wanting her (and that's not to say that he did, he didn't – and even if he did, she wanted no part of him) when he thought another party already had her, then it was his issue. Not hers. She'd been done with him the second – no, she'd been done with him before Charlie had passed. No! She'd couldn't be done with him, because she'd never been _started_ with him! And she couldn't put an end to something that had never started.

"You don't matter! You never mattered!" Blair screamed, her arms flailing wildly, emphasizing her point as she crowded Chuck's personal space. He stepped back, his face showcasing too many emotions to decipher.

Out of the corner of his eye Nate saw Eric's hands hesitate. Bringing his lips to Vanessa's palm, he slid a quick encouraging look at the man he'd known nearly all his life. Eric nodded. Dragging in a shaky breath, he slid the small contraption against Vanessa's olive skin. She swallowed audibly. Silently, Nate squeezed his fiancée's small hand. It would be ok. No matter what the fetal Doppler picked up – or didn't pick up – it would be alright. He would spend every last morsel of energy, utilize every breath to show her that he loved her. Show her he that he loved them both.

He wasn't his father. She wasn't his mother. Baby or no baby, he would show her that. She would know. She had to know. He'd spent nearly ten years resigned to his fate as Blair's eventual husband. He'd never believed that a person's soul had an equal counter part – another half, and that it lived in another human being. Not until he'd met Vanessa. Not until she'd been back dropped against Toronto's skyline, fat rain drops splattering against her soft skin. And he wasn't going to loose that feeling now; wasn't going to loose her. Couldn't loose her.

The Doppler slid over top of her belly button and Nate found himself holding his breath. Releasing the air in one quick whoosh, he bent to kiss away the tears that trickled from the corners of Vanessa's eyes, leaving salty trails across her cheek bones. Her shaky breaths ghosted across his forehead as she turned her face into his. His eyes slid closed as he pressed his forehead into hers. Finding his voice he whispered, "I want to say this before..." opening his eyes to catch and hold hers, he continued, "before we know." Her gaze turned liquid and her lips parted, poised to form a reply, but Nate brought their intertwined hands to her lips to prevent the words from being voiced. "My world didn't make sense until you were in it. Until you, it was a series of random events that I lived through. Another day, another gala, another fight, another meal, another test, another game. Another and another and another. Until the rain came and washed it all away. You cleansed me. You taught me to _experience _life. Showed me that it was what I did that defined me as a person. What I believed, what I wanted, what I loved." He allowed himself to drag in a shaky breath to steady his wavering voice. "Not what anybody else wanted for me. Not what they wanted me to want, wanted me to love. _Me._ What _I_ wanted. You didn't expect me to be something I wasn't. You saw me. You wanted me. And you need to know that I see you. I want you. I love you." Strong fingers slid to cup the slippery curve of her abdomen. "Both of you."

Arthur took in Zach's twitching form. Grant looked from the top of Arthur's grey head to the dark crimson marring Zach's pale face. The old man's gnarled fingers had yet to come within a foot the boy's waxy skin. And it hit Grant then, linoleum flooring digging into his kneecaps and the freezing early morning air wrapping itself like a noose around his neck, that they weren't going to. The boy wasn't going to make it. And Arthur didn't want to soil his hands – or his suit jacket, apparently – attempting to reverse the prognosis.

Nate swallowed against the lump in his throat. "There wasn't a breath I took that I didn't love you both with every beat of my heart. I was scared I wouldn't be able to be the kind of father to our sons and daughters that I always promised myself I would be. That they deserved. But I'm not him; I'm not my father, and if it took nearly loosing you both to realize that all you can do is love your children with everything you are and lean on each other for the rest, then it has all been worth it a thousand times over." Tears openly ran down Vanessa's face. Nate captured them with his lips, one hand on their child, the other entwined with its mothers trembling fingers. "It will be ok, sweet pea. No matter what. It will be ok. We'll be ok. I promise." Shifting his palm to allow Eric and the Doppler access to the area it had previously covered, Nate wiped the jelly on his tattered shirt before tangling his fingers in Vanessa's hair. "I love you, V," he whispered breathlessly against her lips. "Both of you." Tears slid down Vanessa's cheeks to mingle with Nate's on their joined lips.

"I love you too, Fitz," she whispered back. "Forever and a day."

Grant was torn. He'd spent his formative years elbow to elbow with men he'd sworn to give his last breath to before leaving them for dead. Yet here he was, considering doing exactly the opposite. And the boy could be no more than ten years old. His little Suzie would be nine next month. Fuck. But he couldn't risk letting Zach... What little he'd glimpsed of the bodies that littered the path on his and Nate's mad dash to the clinic had been enough to tell Grant exactly what it was that they were dealing with. And the...mess that they would be left with... after... would be nothing compared to the storm of projectile bloody vomit the boy had unleashed on Nate and V. They were all more than likely already infected by now, but on the off chance that one of them was not... Grant couldn't risk it. Hooking his elbow under Zach's small knees and hoisting him quickly into his arms, he stood and hastily strode toward the door.

That's when it happened. Zach's heartbeat strengthened, echoing in Grant's chest and reverberating off the walls.

No. It wasn't Zach's pulse. It was too quick... like the sound of hooves slamming a hurried tattoo against the dry, dusty ground. Like....

Grant's head twisted around on his neck, his shoulders following suit, and his eyes landed on the couple that he considered to be family in the center of the small room.

… a baby's heartbeat.

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A/N - I know I said Darkling would be next the last chapter of TTE, but I have an anal/OCD type personality and could not rest until I'd made amends for the lack of quality of the last chapter of TTE. I haven't forgotten about Darkling, it will be updated. Promise. :) Thank you:)

Lynne


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N- Chuck is a pain in the ass, let it be known to all. He held me up in writing this, wouldn't cooperate at all. I hope the wait was worth it. Blame Mr. Bass, if it isn't.**

Thank you for reading and dropping me your thoughts, feedback is always greatly appreciated.

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Recap:

"_Unfortunately for your overly emotional involvement with the antidote and its supposed source, I do," Arthur replied evenly._

"_There wasn't time," Chuck bit off, barely controlling his rage._

_Arthur arched a skeptical eyebrow at Chuck through the rear view mirror._

"_Turn the car around, Arthur."_

"_I am unable to do so, Mr. Bass."_

_Chuck hissed out a breath, "You know as well as I do that there is a chance that she could still be immune."_

"_Yes," Arthur nodded, his eyes never leaving the highway, "that is a possibility. However, even if your damsel were to share the boy's immunity I would not be able to synthesize the antidote from her blood in time to be of any use. Jeffries' earlier than postulated demise indicates that Mr. Malkov's alterations were far more potent that anyone had previously hypothesized." Light blue eyes met amber eyes alight with fire, "And though the excessive perspiration, narrowed eyelids, and increased pulse that you currently display indicate a severe aversion to even considering the possibility, the fact remains that the chance of Blair Waldorf being the immunity' source is unfavourably low. She is more than likely already infected; if she survived the initial blasts to begin with." Arthur angled his body until the two men were face to face for the first time since he injected Chuck with the paralytic nearly five hours ago, "We remain Toronto bound, Sir."_

_~*~*~_

_And that was Vanessa's last thought before she slipped into unconsciousness, missing the final croak of the radio before it too fell into silent oblivion._

"_If you can still here me out there this is Pat Rogers with CKGB News Talk Radio. The CDC has cut and run; New York has been abandoned. The quarantine zone has been extended to include: … everything; all of the U.S, Mexico, and half of Canada._

_Oh, Fuck this! Nobody is fucking listening to me anyway! You're all dead! The entire goddamn United States of America is dead!_

_I don't give a damn Jimmy! NO! I'm not staying here to die! I'm getting the fuck out of here! ... Did you hear that folks? Jimmy wants me to tell you not to touch the money! BURN YOUR MONEY! It's the fucking money that's…Oh. My. God. It's all over!… Jesus Christ. It really is the end of the-"_

Nate's heart beat in time to the quick thumping that echoed in the now otherwise silent room. It were as though he were dreaming; the steady patter resounding in his ears could not be reality. At least, he knew, he didn't deserve for it to be a reality.

But the trembling hand he held in his and the wet tears he felt rolling down his cheeks told him that he was awake; the nightmare was over, he could finally breathe – whether he deserved to feel the air's cool kiss deep in his lungs or not.

Leaning forward to catch Vanessa's grateful tears with his thumb, Nate whispered softly in her ear, "I love you." The fat droplets that glistened on the apples of her cheeks in the muted, yellow lightening told him that he didn't have to clarify that he meant both of them. She knew. It had only taken him longer than it should ever take a man to be able to come to terms with loving his own child, but she knew. He'd finally been able to tell her, to show her. And she wasn't going to hold the time it had taken for him to be able to express it, to be able to believe it himself, against him.

It was what he loved most about her; her forgiving nature, her loving spirit. Her ability to let go of the past, of any pain he'd unintentionally or unknowingly caused her. It was what made them work as... well, as them. She loved him no matter how long it took him to come around to reality. He though she looked cute with flour on her nose and in her hair – even when she had the lens of her camera shadowing his every move.

She loved him because of his faults and not despite them. His name hadn't mattered to her. In fact, it had mattered so very little to her that she'd scrapped it entirely. He could count the amount of times he had heard her call him by his proper name, by the name his father and the Archibald legacy had given him, on one hand.

And half those had come over the past twenty-four hours.

But that was all over now. The tightness in his chest that hadn't let him breathe had been chased away, the first audible beats of his unborn baby's heart had drawn the air from his lungs in endless sighs of relief.

"It's ok." His lips couldn't cover enough of her face in soft, gentle kisses. "You're safe. You're alright." And they would stay that way. He would see to it if it took every piece of himself, every last shred of his sanity, and every ounce of his blood to do so. "You'll both be fine, I promise."

Jonathan cleared his throat awkwardly and Blair nearly swallowed her own tongue. He didn't push Nate aside to see to Vanessa, didn't haul her over his shoulder and cart her away. Sharp words didn't throw themselves from his lips. No. He just stood their off to her left and a few paces behind the little family, patiently waiting, crushed glass and dark liquid oozing around them in the room's frigid temperature while a madman...

Oh, God! She'd forgotten about Benson!

"Jonathan," Blair snapped. An urgency she couldn't damper had feet that were bare nearly wounding themselves on shattered glass as she moved to capture the 'doctor's' attention, but a sudden tension in her right arm halted her progression. She glared down at her hand, and finding her fingers intertwined with Chuck's, tugged them free of his furiously. Chuck started, having not marked the moment the void between his digits had been filled be hers, either, and Blair snapped her attention back to Jonathan before the gamut of emotions could flash in his dark eyes.

"Yes, Princess?" Jonathan cooed.

He'd caught her silent interchange with Chuck, Blair knew, and his tone was laced with frost. Again, she reminded herself that she did not owe dear Johnny anything but a politely worded 'Thank You For Saving My Life' note and fixed him with an impatient glare.

"If you are quite finished with that impersonation of a statue, I think Nate would like to have his fiancée examined, _Doctor_. Then maybe we could get back to _**getting the hell out of here?**_"

Chuck bristled. The way her tongue wrapped around the other man's title with such a familiar contempt had something he couldn't name crawling in the pit of his stomach.

"Listen, Princess-"

"I swear to God, Johnny-"

Chuck hadn't been able to pin down her relationship with the doctor. Her quick temper where the other man was concerned unnerved him, but the distance she kept between them whenever she could hadn't had Chuck figuring him for...well, for anything more than he himself had been to her over the years.

He would have mentally added up until three months ago, but they'd silently agreed that Paris did not exist. He was not Rick and she would never be his Ilsa. Bogart and Bergman could keep the city of lights and love.

Actually, since Rick had watched Victor and Ilsa as a cloud of fog swallowed them whole, Chuck figured that it was a pretty apt comparison.

The only question being, Chuck mused as Blair kept her eyes on the doctor, spine stiff in a dead give away that she felt his eyes burning a hole at the base of her neck, who exactly was Victor in this scenario?

"Please, Joan – you're direct line to the big guy up-"

"Enough!" Though Eric knew it to be pointless, he stepped between the squabbling adults. And was reminded then, watching as Blair glared at the doctor and Chuck glared at her, the magnitude of what he'd done.

He'd taken another man's life, slit his throat and tasted the last trickle of his blood as it filled his mouth. The love of his sister's life, to top it off. And if they didn't get a move on, didn't stop their bitching and redraw everyone's blood, it would all be for naught.

"Blair's right. We're getting out of here." At Blair's self-satisfied snort, Eric pinned her with an authoritative glare and would have tasked her with finding a mop, but Grant's worried voice claimed his attention.

"He's convulsing! I need help!"

A shiver of panic tripped down Blair's spine.

_A parade of masked doctor's elbowed their way into the spacious room. "He's convulsing!" one of them yelled. The white swatches of material that covered their faces kept Blair from pin pointing which scrub it was._

"_Page Doctor Reid!" another called, and again Blair couldn't tell which medical professional had issued the order. To her ears, it sounded as though the room itself had begun to speak; orders and frantic calls bombarded her from every direction, each carrying more urgency on its back than the last. _

"_Get the mother out of here!" the room ordered, and not soon after she felt its cold embrace ushering her out the door and away from her son. _

"_No!" The scream was shrill and desperate and Blair realized belatedly that it had torn free from her throat. "Charlie! I'm not leaving him! I'm not leaving my son!" _

Memory melded with reality. "I'm not leaving him!"

"Joanie-" Jonathan began.

Chuck stepped forward, his broad shoulders filling Blair's vision and cut Jonathan off. "Waldorf."He'd seen that look in her eye too many times to not have it wrap itself around his throat and choke the air from his lungs. "Hey," he implored, his fingers gripping her upper arms. The material there was crisp with water and cold air and before she could protest, Chuck had it up and over her head and his tattered and bloody dress shirt in its place.

Blair shivered silently, her eyes taking on a glassy quality as, on the floor behind Chuck, Jonathan bent begrudgingly to help Grant.

"She's half frozen," Chuck told Eric, a concern the blonde man hadn't heard in his voice in years weighing down his words as he gathered the petite brunette close to his chest. When Blair didn't protest or attempt to maim his brother, Eric felt the same trickle of concern that was evident in Chuck's actions bloom in his breast, growing larger and stronger until it bordered on outright fear.

"_What are they doing to him? Is he ok? Blair? Blair!" Chuck gripped Blair's arm and whirled her around to face him when she only continued to stare straight ahead at the curtains blocking her view into Charlie's room. " Hey, __Waldorf__, can you hear me? Jesus, I think you're going into shock." _

"I think...I think she's.." Chuck began, pushing damp hair from Blair's forehead with unsteady fingers.

"Going into shock," Eric finished, nodding his agreement, though he wasn't conscious of the movement.

Chuck swallowed, struggling to breathe with Blair pressing herself into his body the way she was, burrowing into his chest. "Waldorf? Come on, Wald- ...Blair?"

Sliding his fingers through her hair to calm her like he had done outside of Charlie's room when she refused to be moved from her vigil, Chuck peeked over his shoulder. On the floor, doctor Jackass and the bearded Aussie were working on the kid. If you could call their hurried, frantic, and nearly useless movements, 'working'. There was blood everywhere. Streaming from his ears, bubbling from his nose, spurting in sporadic bursts from his mouth. Chuck had seen it before – in rats mostly, and from behind the safety of three inch Plexiglas, but seen it nonetheless. Enough to recognize the signs of the end as it neared now.

"Her breathing is too shallow," he told his brother, keeping his eyes on the top of Jonathan's head. Slowly, he raised them to Eric's. "The kid's not going to make it, anyway."

Meaning Jonathan's talents would be better spent on Blair, Eric realized, swallowing hard. Had it really come to that? Eric's heart ached for the decision that faced his brother.

Holding Eric's gaze, Chuck felt his lips press themselves to Blair's temple, testing her temperature, searching for her pulse. "Blair? Come on, don't make me do this. Please, baby."

Even as he cooed the endearment into her ear, Chuck knew he was taking his life into his own hands; Blair hated lovey dovey endearments. Well, he though as he pulled back to capture her eyes and hopefully her attention, her inevitable, murderous thoughts could rest easy; there wasn't a dove in sight and he wasn't in love with her. At least not anymore – if he ever had been begin with. And he'd take her wrath over the dead look in her eyes and pallor draining the colour from her cheeks every time. This day, he hoped.

But not that he cared, no. The only reason that her face was cradled in his hands and his heart in his throat was because there was still a chance that she carried immunity to the virus in her veins. She was, after all, Charlie's mother. Genetics dictated that there was the possibility that she'd been the source of their son's immunity.

"B? Come on, I know how you feel," because the same flash of searing pain had stabbed him through his heart, too, "but if you don't snap out of this, and soon, dammit, you're not going to like the outcome."

Vanessa wept silently against Nate's shoulder. There were not enough words in the English language to describe to the relief she felt. Not enough hours in the day to express how happy she was that their baby was ok, that its father had finally come around. She felt like doing a jig, like screaming from the top of the CN tower, like...like...like...

She didn't know what, and it didn't matter; she was happy!

But even as she lay her forehead against Nate's, there was still a teeny, tiny, minuscule part of her that wasn't fully focused on their miracle, that was somewhere else entirely.

Coins? Banks? No, Vanessa mused, that wasn't it. But it was something along those lines.

If only she could just pinpoint the though, nail it to the wall... she had the distinct feeling that it meant life or death for them all.

"Blair, honey, can you hear me?" When Blair's eyes stared through Chuck, he turned back toward Eric, decision made.

Eric swallowed against the lump threatening to form in his throat. He'd been there with Chuck when the doctors had finally emerged to deliver the news of Charlie's death, stood beside him as he caught his crumpling fiancée, hovered helplessly as he rocked his son's limp form in his arms for that last time. He could only imagine the anguish he was feeling now.

"Doc," Chuck bit out, eyes on still his brother.

Jonathan unfolded his lanky body, pushed Chuck out of his way, and lifted Blair into his arms. Eric fought the urge to deck him himself as he watched the doctor give his once almost sister-in-law a thorough examination. To restrain his itching fist, he turned his attention instead on the rest of the room's occupants.

Grant kneeled helplessly beside Zach's convulsing body, fingers twisting themselves into knots as he realized the boy's fate. Arthur hovered off to the side, reluctant to get involved. Nate and Vanessa huddled together on the narrow examination table, murmuring soft assurances into the other's hair as Nate rocked his fiancée back and forth.

Eric was happy for the couple, relieved that they hadn't had to suffer the same fate as Chuck and Blair had a decade ago, but he couldn't help the tiny though niggling in the dark corner of his mind as he watched them. They'd heard the baby's heartbeat, yes, but Vanessa had been bleeding when Eric had found her. Was he the only one still worried as to why? Surely with Zach hemorrhaging crimson all over the floor like that, and with thousands of bodies littering the streets outside, everyone couldn't have possibly just _forgotten __**exactly**_ what it was they were all dealing with?

Was nobody else worried? he wondered incredulously as Chuck watched with barely restrained disdain as Jonathan checked Blair's vitals, was nobody else the least bit concerned that Vanessa could be infected? She'd been lying unconscious on the kitchen floor of her burning apartment when Eric had found her, and had had more opportunities than he could count on the hands of ten men to come in contact with the virus. She may have even handled a contagion herself, since Eric still hadn't the foggiest idea what the damn thing could be. They could all have walked right through a cloud of virus laden air or have the contagion stuck to everyone of their shoes, for all they knew.

"She needs to be warmer," Jonathan stated, eyes hard despite his concern. Turning to Eric, he ordered, "Get me blankets. Sheets. Anything, _something._"

Through the haze of pain that blurred her vision, clouded her thoughts, Blair managed to hear Jonathan's rapid fire orders. She'd never heard him so undone before. Angry, jealous, spiteful, annoying, yes. But never as worried as he sounded now. To her, it could only mean one thing.

"Charlie..." she mumbled, reaching out, blinded by her tears. When her trembling fingers found fingers warm with heat, something inside her clicked and her breathing began to come more evenly.

Ignoring the death glares that the doc was hurling his way, Chuck stroked his thumb over the backs of Blair's knuckles.

This wasn't like them; the tenderness, the leaning on each other. He found it oddly comforting, uncharacteristically easy. And it scared him. But not more than the realization that hit him then, watching as Jonathan wrapped the blankets Eric handed him around Blair snuggly, feeling her fingers tighten around his, unwilling to relinquish their hold.

The warmth in his chest had nothing to do with the hope that she would be their salvation. Arthur had told him hours ago that even if she were to be the source of Charlie's immunity, it was far too late for her to be their savior; there would not be enough time for him to synthesize an antidote.

No, it wasn't the virus, the cure – none of it.

It was _her. _He was in love with her.

_Still_in love with her, to be exact.

Fuck.

Breathless, he stepped backward, stumbling over his own feet. But her fingers held firm. Panic and nerves tyeing his tongue in knots, he could only turn pleading eyes on Eric.

Eric had to laugh. The insanity of it all, the terrified look in his brother's eyes. "Chuck-" The sentence ended abruptly as Blair's stomach suddenly emptied itself down the front of Jonathan's scrubs. Chuck felt like throwing up himself, Eric could tell, but managed a self satisfied smirk when Blair, fingers still intertwined with his, heaved again, bright green stomach bile splattering on the doc's shoes.

Smiling to himself, Chuck took in the doctor's appearance. Serves the asshole right, he thought, though he had no way of knowing if it actually did.

Chuck had kept one ear on New York over all the years he'd spent running Bass Industries from Tokyo, but, telling himself he didn't to know, that it didn't matter, he'd shut out anything that hit too close to home, anything pertaining to Blair Waldorf. So for all he knew, the doctor could be her husband. It wasn't bloody likely, but the thought that it could even be a possibility, that she was free to marry another man, had his fingers dislodging themselves from hers again, and his feet carrying him quickly out of the room.

Stupefied, Eric watched Chuck flee the room for the second time in the span of thirty minutes. "Chuck!" he yelled, jumping over Zach's lifeless body, dodging Arthur when the man's gnarled fingers attempted to clamp themselves around Eric's wrist, demanding another sample of his blood. "Chuck!" he screamed again, nearly losing his footing as he chased his brother down the hallway. "Chu-"

"Charles Bass, what the _**fuck**_ do you think you're doing?!"

Shocked, Eric turned to see Blair, guns blazing, eyes wide with furry, storming out of the treatment room after them. She held one hand to her stomach, the other to the crook of her arm where it was obvious that she hadn't waited long at all for Arthur to redraw her blood before she'd torn free of his grasp. Even as she barreled down the hallway, blood trickled down her arm in heavy streams.

Chuck stopped, stuttered. "I..uh..What am I doing?!" he yelled back when he found his voice. "What the hell are you doing?" It was clear by his tone, at least to Eric, that he meant the wound leaving a crimson trail in her wake.

Blair shrugged off his question. The heat from the blankets and adrenaline had cleared her mind enough to register the loss of contact when Chuck had yanked his fingers from hers. "Where do you think you're going?" She wasn't sure why anger had her chasing after him, _again_, but her feet had pushed her through the door way before she could stop them.

No, that wasn't entirely true. The first time she'd chased him down because she'd wanted to give him a piece of her mind, wanted to tear him limb from limb for hurting her, for deserting her all those years ago after Charlie had died. And the second was no different. Zach had gone into convulsions, was lying dead on the floor back there, she knew, and Chuck couldn't get away from her quick enough. He was _fleeing. Again._

"God dammit, Bass! Will you quit running?!" Out of breath, she slowed her pace, but not her tirade. "What your father would think of you if he-"

Slowly, Chuck drew in a reluctant breath. "My father?"

"Yes-"

"My father is dead," he continued evenly, and Eric gulped. Chuck Bass was anything but even tempered. "If he were to take issue with something, I'm sure he would start with the fact that I killed him, rather than my choosing to save your life over the kid's."

Speechless, Blair could only stare at the brown-eyed man. She felt the anger drain from her limbs, the nauseous feeling take hold again, as the knowledge hit her full force.

"He's got it in his head that he killed Dad," Eric whispered when she passed him, her mouth gaping, eyes wide. "Thinks he's responsible for Charlie, too."

He knew that Chuck's fists would most likely split his lip later, but Eric was tired of the two of them dancing around each other. Chuck was his brother, he loved him, he was the only family that he had left, and if there was something he'd learned over the past twenty four hours, it was that family was everything, love was everything, and it shouldn't be taken lightly. He'd learned that lesson himself all too well. Damned if he'd watch his brother fuck up his last chance, and the last chance that _any_ of them just might get, at a second chance.

Slowly, painfully, Blair stalked away from Eric towards Chuck.

He thought he killed Bart? He'd saved her? Over Zach?

Hands on her hips, she glared at Chuck, their noses nearly touching. "Why?" she demanded, but the ache Eric's revelation had sparked in her chest stole most of her venom.

She was asking for more than just an explanation of what had happened back in the room, Chuck knew. "You're shaking."

"Why?" Blair repeated.

He knew what she wanted, could see the need to hear it swimming in her eyes, but couldn't quite bring himself to rip the organ, the one he hated to admit she'd broken more than once, from his chest and hand it over. "You should have your precious doctor sew that shut." He nodded toward her right arm, frowned as he caught sight of the red blotch that was eating more and more of the pink material of dress shirt.

She took a step closer. Her breath toyed with the curls on his bare chest. "Why?"

Her hot breath burnt him. "You should be sitting down."

She probably should, she mused. She'd thrown up the pills that Jonathan had found for her, that much she knew, and she'd just managed to regurgitate her own stomach bile. But she wasn't moving an inch. She'd had enough – wasted years convincing herself it didn't matter why, convincing herself she didn't care either way, and if she were dying, which was becoming more and more of a possibility, she knew, then she was damn well going to get an explanation. She deserved to hear it from his lips; why he'd left, why he hadn't loved their son enough to stay. And he couldn't even be bothered to give her one.

"Chuck, dammit!" The crack in his armor that realizing he was in love with the mother of his child had created sprung a leak as Blair's voiced hitched despite her best efforts. "Why?" Tarnished. "Please." Crumbled.

"Because, fuck!" he roared, shoving a hand through his hair, nerves and self directed anger sharpening his tongue. Still unable to face all that had come to pass between them, their past, the present, and everything that lay between, he continued, "Because the boy was gone already, anyway, and you needed the asshole to check you out. Survival of the fittest, hon- Waldorf."

"No." She shook her head, stepped closer still. "_Why?_" And his refusal to acknowledge the real question, the one she was finally able to ask, fueled her frustrations, fed the flames of her anger. "Why me? Why now? Why does it matter _now_?"

"Now or never, isn't that what they say?"

His try for flippant irked her for reasons she wouldn't admit. "I would have been fine, he was the one who needed help. He needed you and you left him lying there!" Her voice broke slightly as deeper meanings crept into her words. "He needed you and you let them take him from me!" Her balled fist struck his bare chest. "He needed you, needed his _father_, and you left him!" And again. "You left _us_!" Again. "You left _**me**_!"

He was torn in a thousand different directions. He could yell back, it was, after all, their way, he could give her the answers she was looking for, or he could take what he wanted. Which at that moment, with her eyes alight with anger and her lips pressed into a thin, trembling line, was her.

More than he'd ever let himself, more than he ever should have, more than he'd realized.

Catching her off guard, but not by surprise, he chose the latter.

* * *


End file.
